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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 


WILLIAM  A.  NITZE 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2008  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/adventuresofphOOthac 


THE  BIOGRAPHICAL   EDITION 


THE    WORKS    OF 
WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY 

WITH  BIOGRAPHICAL  INTRODUCTIONS  BY 
HIS  DAUGHTER,  ANNE  RITCHIE 


IN  THIRTEEN  VOLUMES 

Volume  XI. 

THE  ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 


\. 


[See  r.  569 


"  GOOD    SAMARITANS." 


THE 

ADVENTURES  OF  PHILIP 

ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD 

SHOWING     WHO      ROBBED     HIM,     WHO 
HELPED  HIM,  AND  WHO  PASSED  HIM  BY 

TO   WHICH   IS   PREFIXED 

A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 


WILLIAM      MAKEPEACE     THACKERAY 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  THE  AUTHOR 
AND  FREDERICK  WALKER 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS    PUBLISHERS 

NEW  YORK  AND   LONDON 

1S99 


THE  BIOGRAPHICAL  EDITION  OF 

W.  M.  THACKERAY'S  COiMPLETE  WORKS 

Edited   by    Mrs.  Anne   Thackeray    Ritchie 


The  volumes  are  issued  as  far  as  possible  in  order  of  origitial  piiblicatioji 


1.  VANITY  FAIR 

2.  PENDENNIS 

3.  YELLOWPLUSH  PAPERS,  Etc. 

4.  BARRY  LYNDON,  Etc. 

5.  SKETCH  BOOKS 

6.  CONTRIBUTIONS   TO 

"PUNCH,"  Etc. 


7.  HENRY  ESMOND,  Etc. 

8.  THE  NEWCOMES 

9.  CHRISTMAS  BOOKS,  Etc. 

10.  THE  VIRGINIANS 

11.  PHILIP,  Etc. 

12.  DENIS  DUVAL,  Etc. 

13.  MISCELLANIES 


Illustrated.     Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  Ornamental,  Uncut  Edges  and  Gilt  Tops, 
$1  75  per  volume 


HARPER    &    BROTHERS,   PUBLISHERS, 
NEW     YORK     AND     LONDON 


Copyright,  1S99,  by  Hakper  &  Brothers 
All  rights  reserved 


ADVERTISEMENT 


When  the  "  Shabby  Genteel  Story  "  was  first  reprinted  with 
other  stories  and  sketches  by  Mr.  Thackeray,  collected  together 
under  the  title  of  "  Miscellanies,"  the  following  note  was  append- 
ed to  it : — 

It  was  my  intention  to  complete  the  little  story,  of  which 
only  the  first  part  is  here  written.  Perhaps  novel-readers  will 
understand,  even  from  the  above  chapters,  what  was  to  ensue. 
Caroline  was  to  be  disowned  and  deserted  by  her  wicked  hus- 
band: that  abandoned  man  was  to  marry  somebody  else:  hence, 
bitter  trials  and  grief,  patience  and  virtue,  for  poor  little  Caro- 
line, and  a  melancholy  ending — as  how  should  it  have  been  gay? 
The  tale  was  interrupted  at  a  sad  period  of  the  writer's  own  life. 
The  colours  are  long  since  dry  ;  the  artist's  hand  is  changed.  It 
is  best  to  leave  the  sketch,  as  it  was  when  first  designed  seven- 
teen years  ago.  The  memory  of  the  past  is  renewed  as  he 
looks  at  it — 

die  BUder  f  roller  Tage 
Und  mnnche  Hebe  Schatten  steigen  auf. 

W.  M.  T. 

London:  April  lOth,  1857. 

Mr.  Brandon,  a  principal  character  in  this  story,  figures  prom- 
inently in  "The  Adventures  of  Philip,"  under  his  real  name 
of  Brand  Finnin;  Mrs.  Brandon,  his  deserted  wife,  and  her 
fatlier,  Mr.  (lann,  are  also  introduced  ;  therefore,  the  "  Shabbv 
Genteel  Story  "  is  now  prefixed  to  "  The  Adventures  of  I'hilij)." 


947680 


CONTENTS 


PAOE 
INTRODUCTION  ........  XV 

A   SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY 

CHAP. 

1 3 

II.       HOW    MRS.    GANN    RECEIVED    TWO    LODGERS  .  .  14 

III.  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    DINNER,    AND   OTHER    INCIDENTS 

OF    A    LIKE    NATURE  .....  25 

IV.  IN     WHICH     MR.     FITCH     PROCLAIMS     HIS     LOVE,     AND 

MR.    BRANDON    PREPARES    FOR    WAR    .             .             .39 
V.       CONTAINS     A     GREAT     DEAL     OP     COMPLICATED     LOVE- 
MAKING  46 

VI.       DESCRIBES  A   SHABBY  GENTEEL    MARRIAGE,   AND   MORE 

LOVE-MAKING  ......  60 

VII.       WHICH     BRINGS     A     GREAT     NUMBER     OF     PEOPLE     TO 

MARGATE    BY    THE    STEAMBOAT  ...  67 

VIII.       WHICH      TREATS     OF     WAR     AND     LOVE,      AND     MANY 
THINGS    THAT    ARE    NOT    TO    BE    UNDERSTOOD    IN 
CHAPTER    VII.  .  .  .  .  .  .73 

IX.       WHICH    THREATENS    DEATH,    BUT    CONTAINS    A    GREAT 

DEAL    OF    MARRYING  .....  85 

THE  ADVENTURES   OF   PHILIP 

I.       DOCTOR    FELL 99 

II.       AT    SCHOOL    AND    AT    HOME         .  .  .  .  .109 

IIL       A    CONSULTATION 118 

iz 


CONTENTS 


CHAP. 

IV.       A    GENTEEL    FAMILY  .... 

V.       THE    NOBLE    KINSMAN  .... 

VI.     Brandon's       ...... 

VII.       IMPLETUR    VETERIS    BACCHI 

VIII.       WILL    BE    PRONOUNCED    TO    BE     CYNICAL    BY    THE 

BENEVOLENT    ..... 

IX.       CONTAINS    ONE    RIDDLE    WHICH    IS    SOLVED,    AND 

PERHAPS    SOME    MORE       . 
X.       IN    WHICH    WE    VISIT    "  ADMIRAL    BYNG  "     . 
XI.       IN    WHICH    PHILIP    IS    VERY    ILL-TEMPERED 
XIL       DAMOCLES  ...... 

XIII.  LOVE    ME    LOVE    MY    DOG    .... 

XIV.  CONTAINS    TWO    OF    PHILIP's    MISHAPS 
XV.       SAMARITANS       ...... 

XVI.  IN    WHICH    PHILIP    SHOWS    HIS    METTLE 

XVII.  BREVIS    ESSE    LABORO  .... 

XVIII.  DRUM    IST's    so    WOHL    MIR    IN    DER    WELT    . 

XIX.  QU'ON    EST    BIEN    A    VINGT    ANS 

XX.  COURSE    OF    TRUE    LOVE       .... 

XXI.  TREATS    OF    DANCING,    DINING,    DYING 

XXII.  PULVIS    ET    UMBRA    SUMUS 

XXIII.  IN  WHICH   WE   STILL   HOVER  ABOUT   THE  ELYSIAN 

FIELDS        ...... 

XXIV.  NEC    DULCES    AMORES    SPERNE,    PUER,    NEQUE    TU 

CHOREAS  ...... 

XXV.       INFANDI    DOLORES       ..... 

XXVI.       CONTAINS    A    TUG    OF    WAR 
XXVIL       I    CHARGE    YOU,    DROP    YOUR    DAGGERS  ! 
XXVIII.       IN      WHICH      MRS.      MACWHIRTER      HAS     A     NEW 
BONNET     ...... 

XXIX.       IN     THE     DEPARTMENTS     OF     SEINE,     LOIRE,     AND 
STYX    (iNFERIEUr)       .... 

XXX.       RETURNS    TO    OLD    FRIENDS 


126 
138 

153 
165 

180 

186 
196 
206 
219 
237 
248 
265 
273 
292 
302 
319 
331 
346 
364 

373 

390 
400 
416 
427 

440 

454 
468 


CONTENTS 

CHAP. 

XXXI.       NARRATES      THAT      FAMOUS      JOKE      ABOUT      MISS 

GRIGSBY     ....... 

XXXII.       WAYS    AND    MEANS     ...... 

XXXIII.  DESCRIBES    A    SITUATION    INTERESTING    BUT    NOT 

UNEXPECTED       ...... 

XXXIV.  IN    WHICH     I    OWN    THAT    PHILIP    TELLS    AN     UN- 

TRUTH       ....... 

XXXV.       RES    ANGUSTA    DOMI  ..... 

XXXVI.       IN       WHICH       THE       DRAWING-ROOMS       ARE       NOT 
FURNISHED    AFTER    ALL        .... 

XXXVn.       NEC    PLENA    CRUORIS    HIRUIK)      .... 

XXXVIII.       THE    BEARER    OF    THE    BOWSTRING 

XXXIX.       IN    WHICH    SEVERAL   PEOPLE    HAVE   THEIR   TRIALS 

XL.       IN  WHICH  THE  LUCK  GOES  VERY  MUCH  AGAINST  US 

XLL       IN     WHICH     WE     REACH     THE     LAST     STAGE     BUT 

ONE    OF    THIS    JOURNEY         .... 

XLII.       THE    REALMS    OF    BLISS         ..... 


XI 

PAGE 

482 
498 

509 

518 
536 

549 
563 
575 

589 
595 

615 
620 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 

"GOOD  SAMARITANS" Frontisjnece 

COVER    OF     "  CORNIIILL    MAGAZINE  "    COPIED    BY 

W.    M.    THACKERAY   ......  Pf^ffe  XVI 

FATHER    PROUT          ....•••))  XIX 

W.    M.    THACKERAY              ......,,  XXll 

FACSIMILE    OF    LETTER    TO    SIR    H.    THOMPSON       .             .        ,,  XXlii 

LANDSEER    FACSIMILE    LETTER               .             .             .  J^^fff^S  XXVi,  XXVli 

LONG    FACE i'^fl"^  XXXi 

I  OWE  s.  &  E.  35  PAGES „       xxxii 

W.    M.    THACKERAY    "TAKING     '  TIME  '    BY    THE    FORE- 
LOCK " „     xxxiii 

Thackeray's  house  at  2  palace  green, 

kensin(4t0n ,,   xxxv 

palace  green  play   .    .    .    .    .    .   ,,  xxxvii 

FACSIMILE  OF    GENEALOGY           .             .             .            .             .        „  xlii 
FREDERICK    WALKEr's    SKETCH   OF  THACKEUAY's 

BACK ,,  xlv 

OLD    PARISH    CHURCH,    KENSINGTON               .            To  faCG  page  xlvi 

WHAT    NATHAN    SAID    UNTO    DAVID  .  .    To  farC  pnije    124 

MR.     FROG    REQUESTS    THE    HONOUR    OF    PRINCE 

ox's    COMPANY    AT    DINNER       ...  „  128 

THE   OLD    FOGIES ,,  156 


XIV 


LIST    OF    ILLUSTRATIONS 


laura  s  fireside  . 

nurse  and  doctor 

hand  and  glove 

charlotte's  convoy 

morning  greetings 

a  quarrel   . 

miss  charlotte  and  her  partners 

comfort  in  grief 

the  poor  helping  the  poor 

AT    THE    SICK    MAN's    DOOR 

A    LETTER    FROM    NEW    YORK     . 

MUGFORD's    FAVOURITE     . 

PATERFAMILIAS         .... 

JUDITH    AND    HOLOFERNES 

MORE    FREE    THAN    WELCOME     . 

THANKSGIVING  .  .  .  , 


To  face  2>n,<je  180 
210 
246 
308 
326 
356 
396 
418 
450 
466 
494 
514 
536 
584 
602 
618 


INTRODUCTION 

TO 

PHILIP 

1860-1862 


Everyone  is  familiar  with  the  cover  of  The  Cornhill  Maga- 
zine, which  iny  father  admired  so  much.  He  amused  himself  at 
one  time  by  making  a  copy  of  it,  which  is  given  on  the  next  page. 

*'  I  hope  you  will  pay  him  very  well,"  the  editor  writes  to  the 
proprietor  of  The  Cornhill  Magazine,  concerning  this  said  cover. 

The  Cornhill  was  first  planned  and  talked  of  in  the  spring  of 
1859.  Later  in  that  year  we  went  abroad — my  father,  my  sis- 
ter, and  I — beginning  our  journey  with  Tours  and  Toulouse, 
and  travelling  round  by  Genoa,  Milan,  by  the  Via  Mala  to  Swit- 
zerland. One  of  the  party  fell  ill  on  the  way.  "  For  the  last 
week  we  have  not  been  in  Paradise,"  he  writes  from  Coire  to 
his  mother.  "  We  could  not  have  had  a  prettier  prison  than 
this  dear  little  old  town,  nor,  I  am  sure,  a  more  patient  pris- 
oner. ...  If  I  can  work  for  three  years  now  I  shall  have  put 
back  my  patrimony  and  a  little  over,  after  thirty  years  of  ups 
and  downs.  I  made  a  calculation  the  other  day  of  receipts  in 
the  last  twenty  years,  and  can  only  sum  up  about  £32,000  of 
money  actually  received,  for  which  I  have  values  or  disburse- 
ments of  £13,000,  so  that  I  haven't  spent  at  the  rate  of  more 
than  £1000  a  year  for  twenty  years.  The  profits  of  the  lect- 
ures figure  as  the  greatest  of  the  receipts,  £9500 ;  *  Virginians,' 
six;  'Vanity  Fair,'  only  two.  Three  more  years,  please  the 
Fates,  and  the  girls  will  have  the  eight  or  ten  thousand  a-piece 
that  I  want  for  them  ;  and  we  mustn't  say  a  word  against  the 

XV 


PHILIP 


COVER   OK   "C'ORNHILL    MAGAZINE"    COPIED     BY    W.  M.  THACKERAY. 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

filthy  lucre,  for  I  see  the  use  and  comfort  of  it  every  day  more 
and  more.      What  a  blessing  not  to  mind  about  bills  !"  .  .  . 

Another  letter  sent  by  my  father  from  Coire  was  to  Mr. 
George  Smith  concerning  the  Magazine. 

''September  29,  1859. 

"  Have  you  found  a  title  ?  St.  Lucius,  who  founded  the  church 
of  St.  Peter,  Cornhill,  is  buried  here.  Help  us,  good  St.  Lucius  ! 
and  I  will  be  your  faithful  W.  M.  T." 

It  will  be  remembered  that  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder  &  Co.'s  offices 
were  then  at  65  Cornhill,  within  the  radius  of  St.  Lucius's  juris- 
diction. 

Good  St.  Lucius  did  not  turn  a  deaf  ear  to  the  appeal,  for  on 
October  4th,  my  father  writes  again,  dating  from  Zurich : — 

"  I  see  Macmillan's  advertisement  and  am  glad  he  appears  in 
November.  Tiie  only  name  I  can  think  of  as  yet  is  The  Corn- 
lull  Magazine.  It  has  a  sound  of  jollity  and  abundance  about  it." 

The  following  letter  has  lately  been  sent  me  from  the  North, 
by  a  friend  who  has  collected  various  memoranda  belonging  to 
those  times  : — 

"  36  Onslow  Square,  S.  W., 
''■November  1,  1859. 

"Our  storehouse  being  in  Cornhill,  we  date  and  name  our 
magazine  fron)  its  place  of  publication.  We  might  have  assumed 
a  title  much  more  startling;  for  example,  'the  Thames  on  Fire' 
was  a  name  suggested  ;  and  placarded  in  red  letters  about  the  city 
and  country,  it  would  no  doubt  have  excited  some  curiosity.  At 
our  social  table  we  shall  suppose  the  ladies  and  children  always 
present;  we  shall  not  set  rival  politicians  by  the  ear;  we  shall 
listen  to  every  guest  who  has  an  apt  word  to  say,  and  I  hope  in- 
duce clergymen  of  various  denominations  to  say  grace  in  their 
turn.  The  kindly  fruits  of  the  earth  which  grow  for  all,  may  we 
not  enjoy  them  with  friendly  hearts?  The  field  is  immensely 
wide,  the  harvest  i)cronnial,  and  rising  every  whei'e  ;  we  can  prom- 
ise competent  fellow-labourers  a  welcome  and  a  good  wage,  and 
hope  a  fair  custom  from  the  public  for  owv  stores  at  2'he  Cornhill 
Matjaziney 

I  can  still  sec  my  father  walking  altout  the  house,  coming  in 
and  out  of  the  rooms,  and  sitting  down  and  getting  up  again  as 
he  thought  over  his  plans  and  the  name  of  the  forthcoming  mao-a- 


xviii  PHILIP 

zine.  As  usual,  when  I  try  to  write  down  wliat  I  recall  of  those 
past  days,  I  find  only  a  few  impressions  of  minor  details  rather 
than  any  clear  memory  of  the  more  important  facts. 

Messrs.  Smith  &  Elder  worked  hard  and  converted  their  edi- 
tor's suggestions  into  facts  and  realities,  with  an  energy  and  a 
liberality  very  remarkable.  I  have  a  pile  of  old  letters  from 
them  about  The  Cornhlll  Magazine,  which  are  an  example  in 
themselves — punctual,  orderly,  sparing  no  trouble.  There  are 
more  than  one  on  the  same  day,  entering  into  every  detail. 

The  day  when  the  first  number  was  published — January  1860 
— messengers  arrived  to  tell  the  editor  of  new  thousands  being 
wanted  by  the  public  ;  then  more  messengers  came,  and  we  were 
told  how  the  printers  were  kept  working  till  all  hours.  I  have 
also  heard  of  the  binders  fixing  on  the  yellow  wrappers  all  through 
the  night  which  preceded  the  publication.  Mr.  George  Smith 
told  me  that  the  calculations  were  all  put  out  by  the  enormous 
sale,  which  reached  to  some  120,000. 

The  price  which  pays  for  the  paper  and  printing  of  10,000  an- 
nouncements, ceases  to  be  remunerative  when  120,000  notices 
are  put  forth.  The  proprietors  actually  lost  upon  the  transaction 
after  a  certain  number  had  been  reached.  Literary  booms  and 
vast  successes  were  not  so  common  then  as  now,  and  this  was 
supposed  to  be  quite  phenomenal.  With  the  exception,  perhaps, 
of  the  Dublin  Penny  Magazine,  it  seemed  to  be  the  impression 
in  those  bygone  days  that  nothing  was  worth  having  that  did 
not  cost  five  shillings  or  half-a-crown  at  least.  Other  publishers 
must  have  found  out  the  value  of  a  shilling  just  about  the  time 
that  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder  &  Co.  made  this  discovery.  Macmillan 
is  two  months  older  than  the  Cornhill,  Temi'tle  Bar  is  about  a 
year  younger. 

The  inaugural  ode  for  The  Cornhill  Magazine  was  very  much 
liked  and  admired.  Not  very  long  ago  I  received  from  Australia, 
among  other  memoranda,  a  sketch  of  Father  Prout,  the  author 
of  the  poem. 

The  first  time  I  realised  the  privileges  of  an  editor's  daughter 
was  one  winter's  evening,  when,  instead  of  having  to  wait  a  month 
for  the  second  number  of  "  Framley  Parsonage,"  my  father  sent 
me  upstairs  to  the  study  to  fetch  the  proof-sheets  which  were 
lying  on  his  table. 


I  N T K O D U C T  I  ()  N  xix 

It  would  bave  been  a  strange  perversion  of  chance  if  the  Corn- 
hill  had  not  proved  a  success.  To  say  nothing  of  the  editor, 
the  names  of  the  contributors  are  a  sort  of  history  of  the  doins;- 
and  thinking,  of  the  action  and  philosophy,  from  1860  onwards. 
Tennyson,  Ruskin,  Mrs.  Browning,  Swinburne,  Lord  Lytton,  Mr. 


t-ATHER    TROOT 

dt'awn  W 

M'the  haunt"   in 

Presented  ToTHtiyoRicK club.Melbourne 

Locker,  Adelaide  J'rocter,  Owen  Meredith,  Monckton  Milnes 
may  well  stand  for  poetry  ;  there;  is  Washington  Irving  still 
writing  from  America.  Koi'  natural  science  and  i)hiloso])hy. 
Sir  John  lIc>rschoI,  (ieorge  Lewes,  and  Ilinton;  for  essayists 
we  find  Matthew  Arnold,  Fitzjamos  Stephen,  Harriet  Martineau, 
Frederick  Greenwood,  and  the  great  Jacob  Omnium.  Then  in 
tiction  and  romance  we  have  George  Eliot,  Anthony  Trollope, 


XX  PHILIP 

Mrs.  Gaskell,  Charles  Reade,  Wilkie  Collins,  George  Macdonald, 
and  my  father  himself.  Even  tlie  pretty  cover,  which  holds  its 
own  amongst  the  vaporous  landscapes,  the  inarticulate  nymphs, 
and  fashion  blocks  of  to-day,  was  the  spirited  outcome  of  a  new 
school  of  art  which  had  lately  grown  up  in  South  Kensington, 
under  the  protection  of  the  Prince  Consort.  Sir  H.  Cole  ad- 
vised my  father  to  apply  to  the  school  for  a  design  for  the 
cover,  and  one  of  the  pupils,  a  young  man  called  Godfrey  Sykes, 
sent  in  a  drawing,  which  was  immediately  accepted.  "  What  a 
fine  engraving!  What  a  beautiful  drawing!"  my  father  writes. 
"There  has  been  nothing  so  ornamentally  good  done  anywhere 
that  I  know  of." 

Some  old  letters  which  I  have  been  looking  over  give  a  vivid 
impression  of  the  mark  made  by  the  advent  of  the  Cornhill. 
Here  are  two  characteristic  notes,  one  from  Lord  Houghton  and 
another  from  Carlyle : 

"Broadlands,  December  27,  1859. 

"My  dear  T. — Obliged  for  and  pleased  with  No.  1.  It  is 
almost  too  good,  both  for  the  public  it  is  written  for  and  the 
money  it  has  to  earn.  How  you,  the  contributors  and  the  pub- 
lishers, are  to  be  paid  out  of  it  is  economically  inconceivable ! 
I  send  you  some  verses  as  you  desired ;  I  should  like  to  see  a 
proof  at  No.  16  IJ.  B.  Street,  W.,  whenever  you  think  fit  to  use 
them. 

"  I  like  the  Leigh  Hunt  very  particularly.  I  heartily  wish 
you  would  employ  Macdonald,*  the  author  of  '  Phantastes ' 
and  *  Within  and  Without.'  He  is  a  man  of  very  fine  fancy, 
high  education,  and  good  taste.  He  would  write  you  some 
poetical  prose  that  would  be  sure  to  be  good.  The  old  Premier 
here  looks  so  hearty,  I  believe  he  would  write  you  an  article  if 
you  asked  him.  He  sat  five  hours  at  the  farmers'  dinner  at 
Romsey,  and  then  they  said  '  looked  quite  disappointed  to  have 
to  go.' — I  am  yours  ever,  R.  M.  Milnes." 

"  October  20,  1859. 
"Dear  Thackeray, — Right  gladly  I  would  if  only  I  could, 
but  I  can  yet  bethink  me  of  nothing  in  the  least  likely.     Indeed 

*  Mr.  Macdonald  wrote  "  The  Portent"  in  numbers  5,  (5,  and  7  of  the 
Cornhill. 


INTRODUCTION  xxi 

I  am  so  crushed  to  death  ainid  Prussian  rubbish  these  lotiff 
years  past,  I  have  nearly  lost  the  power  of  thinking  in  any  form, 
and  am  possessed  by  one  sad  futile  ghost  of  a  thought,  llow 
am  I  to  get  out  of  this  cursed  thing  alive  ?  If  ever  I  do  live  to 
get  out  of  it  and  find  the  Thackeray  magazine  and  editor  still 
lively,  then ! 

"  Meanwhile  I  do  not  quite  give  the  matter  up — your  matter 
I  mean — as  desperate.  And  if  any  possibility  do  offer,  be  sure 
I  will  lay  hold  of  it.  With  prayers  for  the  new  periodical  and 
you,  yours  ever,  T.  Carlyle." 

The  next  letter  contains  an  account  of  tlie  article  Mr.  Carlyle 
was  not  able  to  write : — 

"Dear  TiiACKERAV, — The  thing  I  contemplated  for  you,  or 
the  nucleus  of  the  thing,  was  a  letter  concerning  the  anecdote 
about  Fontenoy.  '  Faites  feu,  messieurs,'  on  the  part  of  the  Eng- 
lish, with  answer  from  the  Garde  francaise,  '  Begin  you,  gentle- 
men ;  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing  for  the  world.'  The  letter  is 
from  Lord  Charles  Hay,  captain  of  the  Scots  Fusiliers,  main 
actor  in  the  business.  It  was  sent  me  last  year  by  Lord  Gifford, 
and  I  could  have  made  a  little  story  out  of  it  which  would  have 
been  worth  publishing.   .   .   . 

"  But  on  applying  to  Lord  Gifford  he — what  he  is  himself,  I 
believe,  truly  sorry  for — cannot  now  give  me  permission,  so  the 
poor  little  enterprise  falls  to  nothing  again,  and  I  may  be  said 
to  be  in  a  state  of  ill-luck  just  now.  If  I  ever  see  the  end  of 
this  book  and  have  life  left  you  shall  have  plenty  of  things,  but 
for  the  time  being  I  can  only  answer  Dc'profundis  to  the  above 
cffpct. 

"  Fair  w-ind  and  full  sea  to  you  in  this  hitherto  so  successful 
voyage,  for  which  the  omens  are  on  all  sides  good.  Vour  peo- 
ple do  not  send  us  a  copy  since  Xo.  1,  but  we  always  draw  upon 
our  purse  for  it  to  the  small  extent  requisite. — Yours  ever  truly, 

"T.  Carlyle." 

Tiic  following  letter,  from  Mr.  Charles  Macaulay,  cannot  but  be 
quoted,  although  the  facts  to  which  it  relates  have  been  already 
told  by  Sir  George  Trcvelyan  in  his  "Life  of  Lord  Macaulay": — 


xxii  PHILIP 

"My  dear  Taylor, — There  is  a  charming  notice  of  my  dear 
brother  in  the  February  number  of  The  Cornhill  Magazine,  the 
outpouring  of  a  tender,  generous,  noble  nature.  I  do  not  know 
who  wrote  it,  but- 1  should  much  like  Thackeray  to  know  that 
the  last  book  my  brother  read  was  the  first  number  of  The  Corn- 
hill  Magazine.  It  was  open  at  Thackeray's  story,  on  the  table 
bv  the  side  of  the  chair  in  which  he  died.  I  think  that  this 
might  interest  Thackeray,  and  perhaps  when  you  have  an  op- 
portunity you  will  mention  it  to  him. — Very  affectionately 
yours,  C.  Macaulay." 


W.    M.   THACKERAY. 
From  a  Sketch  by  Sir  Henry  Thompson,  about  1857. 

An  article  was  written  by  Sir  Henry  Thompson  for  the  first 
number  of  The  Cornhill  Magazine,  of  which  the  history  has 
come  to  me  lately. 

"  Before  the  Cornhill  came  out,"  Sir  Henry  writes,  "  your 
father  told  me  that  he  intended  to  develop  a  new  principle — 
that  he  thought  every  man,  whatever  his  profession,  might  be 


xxiv  PHILIP 

able  to  tell  something  about  it  which  no  one  else  could  say, 
provided  the  writer  could  write  at  all:  and  he  wanted  to  utilise 
this  element.  '  So,'  said  he,  '  I  want  you  to  describe  cutting  off 
a  leg  as  a  surgical  operation,  and  do  it  so  that  a  ship's  captain 
at  sea,  who  had  not  a  doctor  on  board,  would  be  able  to  take  a 
sailor's  leg  off  by  reading  your  description.'  Having  heard  in  a 
letter  from  your  father,  signed  '  Yours,  in  trouble,'  that  the 
article  was  lost,  I  was  very  glad  to  learn  by  an  envelope  ad- 
dressed to  me  with  the  following  words,  '  The  leg  is  found. 
W.  M.  T.,'  that  the  manuscript  had  come  to  light.  The  article 
finally  appeared  with  a  new  title.  When  your  father  had  read  it, 
it  struck  him  that  the  paper  he  had  asked  for  might  be  some- 
what painful,  so  he  wrapped  it  up  in  something  sweet  for  the 
British  public  to  take,  and  called  it  'Under  Chloroform.'  I  had 
brought  the  ansesthesia  to  the  front  for  the  same  purpose.  .  .  ." 

We  give  the  facsimile  of  a  letter  of  congratulation  which  my 
father  wrote  to  this  old  friend  for  whom  he  had  so  great  an  ad- 
miration. 

The  charming  letter  written  at  this  time  by  Tennyson  has 
been  published  in  his  "  Memoir."  It  was  written  in  answer  to 
a  request  for  a  poem,  and  in  February  1860  "  Tithonus  "  ap- 
peared in  the  Cornhill. 

But  an  editor's  work  is  full  of  uncertainty,  and  I  find  that 
much  of  the  correspondence  is  to  say  why  the  writer  cannot  do 
as  my  father  wishes  ;  for  of  course  people  don't  send  long  letters 
when  they  agree  to  your  wishes.  Such  denials  as  this  one  from 
Mr.  Motley  must  have  been  not  all  disappointment  to  the 
receiver : — 

The  Hon.  J.  L.  Motley  to  W.  M.  T. 

"...  Your  letter,  with  its  magnificent  illustration,  was  at 
once  pounced  upon  by  my  daughter,  and  it  is  enrolled  among 
her  most  precious  archives. 

"  I  wish  I  could  give  a  favourable  answer  to  your  flattering 
request,  but,  most  unfortunately  for  myself,  I  have  been  so  long 
engaged  in  the  slow  and  heavy  business,  that  I  could  do  nothing 
in  the  light  and  airy  line  worth  your  acceptance. 

"  I  daresay  that  you  think  it  as  simple  as  good-day  to  write  a 
Roundabout  Paper  in  half-an-hour  that  shall  be  the  delight  of 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

the  billion  readers  of  The  Cornhlll  Magazine;  but  I  am  obliged 
for  my  part  to  confess,  like  Agtieclieek,  that  '  T  have  no  more 
wit  than  a  Christian  or  an  ordinary  man.'  I  feel  sure  that  I 
should  be  voted  a  bore  were  I  to  try  my  hand  as  you  desire. 
Believe  me,  that  it  is  from  no  affectation  of  modesty  nor  indis- 
position to  oblige  you  that  I  thus  refuse  your  invitation,  but 
from  an  honest,  inward  conviction  of  imbecility. 

"  Nevertheless,  if  by  lucky  chance  I  should  think  of  something 
within  my  range  that  I  might  make  useful  to  you,  it  will  give  me 
much  pleasure — after  this  full  confession — to  send  it."  .  .  . 

The  next  refusal  is  from  dear  Dr.  John  Brown. 

"  I  am  ashamed  of  my  shabbiness  to  you,  but  the  truth  is,  I 
must  be  forced  to  write.  If  you  were  to  make  your  printer 
command  me  to  have  something  ready  by  a  certain  date  I  could 
do  it,  but  if  it  is  left  to  my  own  sweet  will  it  is  left  for  ever.  I 
was  thinking  of  giving  you  an  additional  member  of  '  Our  Dogs' 
— '  Binkie,'  a  real  dog,  and  the  best  successor  I  have  ever 
known,  to  '  Crab,'  '  the  sourest-natured  dog  that  lives,'  as  his 
master  says.  .  .  ." 

From  Dr.  John  Brown  —  from  the  author  of  "  Rab  and  his 
Friends" — to  Sir  Edwin  Landseer  is  but  a  short  step. 

Sir  Edwin's  letters  have  both  been  (juoted  before  in  these 
pages,  but  they  are  so  much  to  the  point  that  I  cannot  omit 
them  here. 

"  My  dear  Thackeray, — Old  rams  look  wicked  sometimes, 
slieep  usually  innocent.  What  am  I  to  do  ?  If  you  will  let  me 
know  what  class  of  sheep  you  really  want,  I  will  do  my  best  to 
illustrate  a  page  for  tlie  Mag. — Yours  sincerely, 

"  E.  Lanuseer." 

"March  18,  1860, 
"Dear  Thackeray, — My  used-up  old  pencil  worked  with 
friendly  gladness  for  an  old  friend,  and  was  richly  rewarded  by 
the  reception  you  gave  the  black  sheep.  I  now  feel  under  an 
avalanche  which  really  embarrasses  me.  The  magnificent  gift 
now  before  me  so  startled  me  that  a  state  of  prostration  has  set 
in  with  its  usual  severity  !  It  is  from  your  large  heart  the 
pretty  ewer  comes.     I  am  willing  to  believe,  and  do  hope  that 


(^U^Stl^     ^O 


^      Q(..r^       C^ .    (L^^^   .'Mh.^^ 


/(^      " 


LANDSEEU   FACSIMILE    LETTER 


/.  Ch  'ij'  iJ-hT'  fC'-^v^-  ^^C^ 


^^ 


fyJf  /^' 


^>^^  //l^/5( 


LANDSKKK    KACSI.MILK    I.KTTKR. 


XXX  PHILIP 

"Rome,  126  via  Felice,  April  21. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Thackeray, — Pray  consider  the  famous  *  tooth  ' 
(a  wise  tooth  !)  as  extracted  under  chloroform,  and  no  pain  suf- 
fered by  anybody. 

"To  prove  that  I  am  not  sulky  I  send  another  contribution, 
which  may  prove  too  much  perhaps,  and,  if  you  think  so,  dis- 
pose of  the  supererogatory  virtue  by  burning  the  MS.,  as  I  am 
sure  I  may  rely  on  your  having  done  with  the  last. 

"  I  confess  it,  dear  Mr.  Thackeray,  never  was  any  one  turned 
out  of  a  room  for  indecent  behaviour  in  a  more  gracious  and  con- 
ciliatory manner  !  Also,  I  confess  that  from  your  Cornhill  stand- 
point (paterfamilias  looking  on)  you  are  probably  right  ten  times 
over.  From  mine,  however,  1  may  not  be  wrong,  and  I  appeal 
to  you,  as  the  deep  man  you  are,  whether  it  is  not  the  higher 
mood,  which  on  Sunday  bears  with  the '  plain  word  '  so  offensive 
on  Monday  during  the  cheating  across  the  counter?  I  am  not  a 
'  fast  woman.'  1  don't  like  coarse  subjects,  or  the  coarse  treat- 
ment of  any  subject.  But  I  am  deeply  convinced  that  the  cor- 
ruption of  our  society  requires  not  shut  doors  and  windows,  but 
light  and  air ;  and  that  it  is  exactly  because  pure  and  prosperous 
women  choose  to  ignore  vice,  that  miserable  women  suffer  wrong 
by  it  everywhere.  Has  paterfamilias,  with  his  Oriental  traditions 
and  veiled  female  faces,  very  successfully  dealt  with  a  certain 
class  of  evil  ?  What  if  materfamilias,  with  her  quick,  sure  in- 
stincts and  honest  innocent  eyes,  do  more  towards  their  expul- 
sion by  simply  looking  at  them  and  calling  them  by  their  names  ? 
See  what  insolence  you  put  me  up  to  by  your  kind  way  of  nam- 
ing my  dignities.   .  .  .  'Browning's  wife  and  Penini's  mother!' 

"  And  I,  being  vain  (turn  some  people  out  of  a  room  and  you 
don't  humble  them  propei'ly),  retort  with  .   .   .  materfamilias! 

"Where  are  you  all — Annie,  Minnie?  .  .  .  Why  don't  you 
come  and  see  us  in  Rome? 

"  My  husband  bids  me  give  you  his  kind  regards,  and  I  shall 
send  Pen's  love  with  mine  to  your  dear  girls. — Most  truly  yours, 

"  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning. 

"  We  go  to  Florence  in  the  latter  half  of  May." 

We  have  also  one  more  charminy;  little  note  sent  via  Cornhill. 


INTRODUCTION 


"Rome,  126  via  Felick. 

"  Dear  Mr.  Thackeray, — I  hope  you  received  my  note  and 
last  poem.  I  hope  still  more  earnestly  that  you  won't  think  I 
am  putting  my  spite  against  your  chastening  hand  into  a  pre- 
sumptuous and  troublesome  fluency. 

*'  But  Hans  Christian  Andersen  is  here,  charming  us  all,  and 
not  least  the  children.  So  I  wrote  these 
verses — not  for  Cornhill  this  month,  of 
course ;  though  I  send  them  now,  that  they 
may  lie  over  at  your  service  (if  you  are  so 
pleased)  for  some  other  month  of  the  sum- 
mer. 

"  We  go  to  Florence  on  the  first  of  June 
— and  lo  !  here  is  the  twenty-first  of  May. 

"  With  love  to  dear  Annie  and  Minny,  I 
remain,  most  truly  yours, 

"  Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning." 


This  poem  was  "  The  North  and  the 
South "  which  appeared  in  The  Cornhill 
Magazine  in  .June  18G],  the  month  of  Mrs. 
Browning's  death. 

One  of  the  most  touching  articles  which 
appeared  in  its  columns  were  those  few  chap- 
ters by  Miss  Bronte,  to  which  my  father 
wrote  an  introduction.  The  beautiful  open- 
ing pages  of  the  story  of  "Emma"  ap- 
peared in  the  fourth  number,  together  with 
"  The  Last  Sketch,"  as  my  father  called  it, 
when  he  wrote  his  introduction,  placing  his  worthy  tribute 
the  newly  made  grave  of  his  friend. 


LONG    FACK. 


upon 


As  my  father's  health  failed,  trouble  seemed  to  multiply,  but 
he  always  took  things  cheerily  ;  witness  this  little  note  to  Mr. 
George  Smith  : — 

"  36  Onslow  Sin  ark,  September  ;5,  1801. 

"Some  people  think  long  faces  very  becoming.  Mine  will 
lengthen  ;  but  it  is  because  your  speculation  is  not  so  good  as  it 
might  be,  not  for  the  personal  loss  to  yours  always,     W.  M.  T." 


xxxii  PHILIP 

I  may  add  a  raemoranduin  of  this  time,  whicLi  Mr.  Smith  also 
gives  me. 

The  mechanical  part  of  the  work  became  more  and  more  irk- 
some to  him,  and  he  found — in  common,  I  believe,  with  most 
editors — that  it  is  not  that  which  appears  in  print,  but  that 
which  does  not  appear  which  is  the  really  trying  part  of  the  edi- 
tor's duty. 

Mr.  George  Smith  told  me  a  little  story  the  other  day  about 
the  drawing  on  the  next  page.  The  CornhUl  rises  once  a  month 
with  its  yellow  rays  streaming  from  the  bookstalls ;  but  long  be- 
fore this  revolving  sun  appears,  the  particles  of  which  it  is  com- 
posed are  fusing,  and  igniting,  and  melting  down,  and  printers 
and  engravers  are  at  work  preparing  for  its  dawn.  One  day  the 
proprietor  of  the  planet  wrote  to  my  father,  and  asked  him  to 
send  his  drawings  in  by  a  certain  date,  before  the  arrival  of  the 
MS.,  so  as  to  give  the  engravers  more  time  to  complete  their 
part  of  the  work.  There  was  no  answer  to  the  note ;  but  some- 
what before  the  day  came  a  wood-block  with  a  drawing  upon  it. 
It  was  the  sketch  of  the  editor  holding  Time  by  the  forelock, 
and  it  was  addressed  to  the  writer  of  the  note. 

What  does  he  say  of  the  thorn  in  the  cushion  of  the  editorial 
chair  ?  "  It  is  there.  Ah,  it  stings  me  now  as  I  write.  It  comes 
with  almost  every  morning's  post.  At  night  I  come  home  and 
take  my  letters  up  to  bed,  not  daring  to  open  them.  And  in  the 
morning  I  find  one,  two,  three  thorns  on  my  pillow.  ...  It  is 
all  very  fine  to  advertise  on  the  magazine  that  contributions  are 
only  to  be  sent  to  Messrs.  Smith,  Elder  &  Co.,  and  not  to  the 
editor's  private  residence.  My  dear  sir,  how  little  you  know  of 
man  or  woman  kind  if  you  fancy  they  will  take  that  kind  of 
warning.  No  day  passes  but  that  word  misericordiam  is  used. 
Day  and  night  that  sad  voice  is  crying  for  help.  Before  I  was 
an  editor  I  did  not  like  the  postman  much,  but  now  !" 

"The  sad  voice"  was  often  answered  as  the  following  letters 
will  show : — 

"  Deak  Sir, — I  can  give  you  little  help  or  advice  in  the  mat- 
ter.    You  must  know  yourself  in  what  literary  subjects  you  are 


W.  M.   THACKERAY    "TAKING    '  TIME '    BY    THE    FORELOCK." 


xxxiv  PHILIP 

most  interested — knock  at  publishers'  doors,  be  refused,  be  ac- 
cepted, as  all  of  us  have  done.  I  was  a  known  and  tolerably 
successful  author  when  I  tried  three  or  four  publishers  with 
'  Vanity  Fair.'  Of  this  I  am  sure,  that  a  school  and  college  ex- 
perience and  education  are  of  great  advantage  to  a  literary  be- 
ginner nowadays ;  by  the  editors  of  Household  Words,  Once  a 
Week,  Cornhill  Magazine,  Blackwood  articles  are  pretty  sure  to 
be  read.  I  was  staying  with  Mr.  Blackwood  when  the  first  of 
the  'Adam  Bede'  papers  arrived  from  an  unknown  hand.  You 
may  have  to  try  once,  twice,  thrice  before  you  succeed." 

To  another  applicant  he  writes  : — 

"  Palace  Green,  Kensington, 
''May  1,  1862. 

"  Dear  Sir, — Only  this  morning  I  gave  £20  to  a  literary 
gentleman  of  your  country.  Had  I  read  your  letter  first  he 
would  have  had  but  £10;  but  he  is  gone  with  the  money  in  his 
pocket,  and  your  note  was  lying  under  a  heap  of  others  on  the 
table,  which  I  have  had  to  read  on  my  return  from  abroad.  .  .  . 
God  help  us !  how  am  1  to  answer  to  this  perpetual  cry  of  our 
brethren  in  distress? 

"  I  send  my  mite,  deeply  commiserating  you,  and  am  your 
very  faithful  servant,  W.  M.  Thackeray."' 

It  was  in  the  spring  of  1  862  that  my  father  finally  made  up 
his  mind  to  resign  the  editorship.  Many  friends  had  advised 
him  to  resign  before,  but  for  various  reasons  he  had  hesitated, 
until  it  was,  to  his  great  relief,  arranged,  and  he  was  able  to 
settle  down  once  more  quietly  to  his  own  work. 

I  have  a  yellow  page,  dated  March  25,  1862,  which  breaks  ofE 
in  the  middle,  and  which  is  addressed 

"To  Contributors  and  Correspondents. 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen  (who  will  continue,  in  spite  of  the 
standing  notice  below,  to  send  papers  to  the  editor's  private 
residence),  perhaps  you  will  direct  the  postman  to  some  other 
house  when  you  hear  that  the  editor  of  Tlie  Cornhill  Magazine 
no  longer  lives  in  mine. 

"My  esteemed  successor   lives   at   No.  ,  but  I  will    not 


INTRODUCTION 


XXXV 


intrude  upon  the  poor  man's  brief  interval  of  quiet.  He  will 
have  troubles  enough  in  that  thorn-cushioned  editorial  chair, 
which  is  forwarded  to  hiiu  this  day  by  the  Parcels  (Happy) 
Delivery  Company. 

"  In  our  fir«t  number,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  I,  your  humble 
servant,  likened  himself  to  the  captain  of  a  ship,  to  whom  I 
wished  a  pleasant  voyage.    Pleasant !    Those  who  have  travelled 


Thackeray's  house  at  2  palace  green,  Kensington. 


on  shipboard  know  what  a  careworn,  oppressed,  uncomfortable 
man  the  captain  is.  Meals  disturbed,  (juiet  impossible,  rest  in- 
terrupted— such  is  the  lot  of  captains.   .  .  ." 

In  this  same  spring  we  moved   from  Onslow  Square  to  the 
new  house  in  Kensington. 

There  is  a  note  to  Mr.  George  Smith,  dated  March  8,  1860  : — 
"  I  have  taken  at  last  the  house  on  Kensington  Palace  Green, 
in  which  I  hope  the  history  of  Queen  Anne  will  be  written  by 
yours  always,  W.M,  T.'' 


xxxvi  PHILIP 

But  the  old  house  which  he  had  intended  to  alter  and  to  live 
in  was  found  to  be  tumbling  to  pieces  and  not  safe  to  knock 
about.  After  some  demur  it  was  pulled  down,  and  the  Queen 
Anne  building  was  erected,  in  which  he  took  so  much  pleasure. 

Sir  John  Millais  used  to  laugli,  and  declare  that  my  father 
first  set  the  fashion  for  red  brick,  of  which  the  crimson  floods 
have  undoubtedly  overflowed  in  every  direction  since  those 
days;  on  the  whole,  embellishing  the  foggy  streets  of  the  grey, 
smoky  city,  to  which  it  is  our  pride  to  belong,  and  of  which 
we  love  to  complain. 

Some  time  before  this,  in  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Procter,  my  father 
speaks  of  a  play  he  had  been  writing : — 

"  Yes,  I  knew  I  had  been  to  see  you  since  my  return  from 
Paris.  I  came  the  second  day  after  my  arrival.  You  were 
going  out  in  a  fly,  don't  you  recollect?  And  I  squandered  a 
cab  at  the  door,  and  you  said  you  were  waiting  to  go  and  see 
that  comedy,  don't  you  remember,  which  wasn't  written  then, 
and  now — Rrrejected?     O  torture. 

"  I  read  it  to  the  girls  last  night,  who  said — and  they  must 
know — it  was  very  good  fun. — Always  yours, 

W.  M.  T. 

Author  of"  The  Wolve&  and  the  Lanih^  a  rejected 
masterpiece  in  two  Acts." 

A  certain  number  of  young  actors,  with  Mr.  Herman  Merivalc 
for  general  manager,  determined  to  try  and  produce  this  play  of 
"  The  Wolves  and  the  Lamb."  It  had  already  been  turned  into 
the  story  of  "  Lovel  the  Widower  "  for  The  Cornhill  Magazine. 

"The  W.  Empty  (W.  M.  T.)  House  "  as  my  father  dubbed  it, 
lent  itself  to  the  occasion,  for  the  rooms  were  all  on  the  ground 
floor,  opening  into  one  another.  The  place  was  large  and 
empty,  with  plenty  of  room  for  sports.  It  was  a  perfect  house- 
warming  ;  there  were  fires  in  every  chimney,  and  happy  young 
people  rehearsing  their  parts.  The  play  was  a  success,  and 
went  very  well.  Mr.  Horace  Twiss  played  the  hero,  the  heroine 
was  Mrs.  Caulfeild,  the  parts  of  three  old  ladies  were  taken  by 
three  young  ones — my  sister,  a  cousin  (Miss  Bayne),  and  Mrs. 
Cliarles  Norman,  the  daughter  of  Mrs.  Cameron. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxvii 

Not  the  least  among  the  characters  was  the  majestic  im- 
personation of  Bulkeley  (Lady  Kicklebury's  footman),  by  our 
old  friend  Mr.  Moroan  John  O'Connel,  who  produced  a  magnifi- 
cent livery  froni  Nathan's  for  the  occasion, 

Mv  father  himself  came  on  as  Mr.  Bonnington  at  the  very 


PALACE      GREEN      PLAY. 
By  Frederick  Walker. 


end  to  drink  to  the  health  of  his  guests.  Me  was  pleased,  and 
so  were  the  a(!tors,  who  were  all  young  people,  pleased  to  please 
him. 

We  had  two  performances ;  we  siiould  have  liked  to  have  had 
a  hundred.  Mr.  Frederick  Walker,  who  used  to  come  to  the 
rehearsals,  made  the  pretty  little  sketch  of  one  of  the  scenes 
that  we  give  here. 

The  epilogue  wiiich  my  father  v.rotc  for  the  end  of  the  jilay 
ran  as  follows  : — 


PHILIP 


EPILOGUE 

Spoken  for  Mr.  W.  M.  Thackeray  in  his  Silent  Character  of 
Mr.  Bonnington  by  Mr.  Horace  Twiss 

Our  drama  ends, 
Our  Landlord  gives  a  greeting  to  liis  friends. 
Some  rich,  some  poor,  some  doubtful,  .some  sincere. 
Some  tried  and  loved  for  many  a  faitliful  year. 
He  loolvS  around  and  bids  all  welcome  here; 

And  as  we  play'rs  unanimously  say 
A  little  speech  should  end  a  little  play, 
Through  me  he  tells  the  friendliest  of  pits 
He  built  this  story  with  his  little  wits. 
These  found  the  mild  repast  on  which  you'll  sup. 
These  filled  (at  one-and-uine)  the  Gascon  cup ; 
These  built  the  house  from  garret  down  to  hall ; 
These  paid  the  bills,  at  least  paid  nearly  all, 
Vides  my  Fill,  what  a  little  nous 
Suffices  to  edificate  a  house  ! 
What's  this  'i     Our  Landlord  drinks  of  his  own  wine  ? 

[J//'.  Thackeray  drinks  to  his  guests. 

A  glass — no,  half  a  glass — of  one-and-nine — 

And  thougli  he  stands  now  that  the  play  is  done 

As  mum — as  mum  as  Mr.  Bonnington — 

Methinks  I  know  the  feelings  which  engage 

His  heart,  the  venerable  speechless  Sage ! 

He  drinks  in  yonder  bumper  which  he  pours 

A  health  from  his  and  him  to  you  and  yours, 

A  kindly  pledge  to  all  within  his  doors. 

Wliate'er  the  meal  here  spread,  or  poor  or  splendid, 

He  prays  a  gracious  Heaven  Love  may  attend  it. 

Whate'er  the  meat,  may  hearty  friends  come  share  it, 

Whate'er  the  care,  may  dear  love  help  to  bear  it. 

Whatever  Mrs.  Grundy  says  about  it. 

May  envy,  rancour,  never  come  from  out  it. 

May  truth,  good-humour,  kindness  dwell  within  it. 

Enough !  the  place  is  opened  from  this  minute. 

And,  though  it  seems  quite  large  enough  already, 

I  here  declare  the  Landlord's  purpose  steady, 

Before  his  novel-writing  days  are  o'er 

To  raise  in  this  very  house  one  or  two  storeys  more. 

My  father  was  relieved  from  much  an.xiety  by  having  resigned 
the  editorship  of  The  CoruhiU  Mayazlite,  but  moving  houses  is 


INTRODUCTION  xxxix 

uot  conducive  to  literary  work,  and  though  he  was  less  troubled 
by  illness  than  in  the  years  before,  the  records  are  still  all  too 
many.  We  moved  into  Palace  Green  towards  the  middle  of 
March.  There  is  an  entry  in  his  diary  for  1862,  dated  Saturday, 
March  8.  "  I  pray  Almighty  God  that  the  words  I  write  in  this 
house  may  be  pure  and  honest;  that  they  be  dictated  by  no 
personal  spite,  unworthy  motive,  or  unjust  greed  for  gain;  that 
they  may  tell  the  truth  as  far  as  I  know  it ;  and  tend  to  promote 
love  and  peace  amongst  men,  for  the  sake  of  Christ  our  Lord." 
On  the  18th  of  April  he  writes,  "The  May  number  not  finished 
until  to-day,  after  repeated  derangements."  He  wrote  to  Mr. 
George  Smith : — 

'*  I  am  quite  astonished  when  I  read  '  Philip '  over.  Oh,  it's 
weary  work,"  and  on  April  30th, — "  I  don't  know  whether  you 
or  I  should  be  most  pitied.  I  have  had  four  days'  illness  at 
Paris ;  no  pleasure  except  going  to  see  my  kind  relations  in  grief 
— and  no  work  done." 

He  quotes  the  opinion  of  a  doctor  he  saw  at  Paris  ..."  ni 
which  case  good-bye  Queen  Anne,  or  rather  I  shall  see  her  sooner 
than  I  expected.  So  they  have  given  E.  Thackeray  the  V.C. ; 
how  pleased  I  am. — Yours  always,  W.  M.  Thackeray." 

Then  come  a  series  of  more  cheerful  memoranda,  such  as 
"Trollops  at  Star  and  Garter,"  "Leech  at  Richmond,"  &c. 
Amongst  these  entertainments  was  a  suj)[)er-party  in  honour  of 
the  engagement  of  our  cousin  Edward  Thackeray,  to  our  friend 
Amy  Crowe,  who  had  long  been  living  with  us.  The  chief 
attraction  of  the  festival  was  that  each  guest  was  expected  to 
cook  one  of  the  dishes,  and  I  still  have  a  vision  before  nic  of 
my  father  and  Dr.  Joachim  gravely  engaged  in  preparing  a 
salad.  There  is  an  old  list  of  those  who  were  invited — a  string 
of  familiar  names,  of  the  people  with  whom  we  lived,  Millais, 
Leeches,  Charles  Collinses,  Coles,  Merivales,  Cayleys,  Lady  Eliza- 
beth Thackeray,  our  cousins  the  Lows,  &c. 

On  the  1st  of  July  niy  father  wrote  to  Mr.  George  Smith  : — 
"  Sitting  in  this  beautiful  room,  surrounded  by  case  and  comfort 
and  finishing  the  story,  T  stop  writing  with  rather  a  full  heart 
for  a  minute  or  two." 


xl  P  II  1  L  I  P 

On  the  3rd,  there  is  this  entry  in  his  diary:  "6.15  p.m. 
Finis  Philip'pi." 

"  Philip  "  was  finished  on  a  Thursday,  and  on  Friday  we  made 
iioliday.  That  Friday  was  a  red-letter  day  for  us  all,  and  how- 
well  T  can  remember  it !  The  sun  shone,  the  shadows  lay  soft 
upon  the  lanes  and  commons  as  we  drove  out  with  our  ponies 
from  London  towards  the  open  country,  to  Orleans  House, 
where  there  was  a  garden  party. 

The  gardens  were  in  their  prime,  and  those  of  Orleans  House 
one  glow  of  beautiful,  bright  color.  Along  the  walls  were  gar- 
lands of  flowers,  and  then  more  flowers  everywhere.  A  theatre 
stood  in  the  centre  of  the  lawn,  where  some  well-known  actor 
from  Paris,  a  Jocrisse  in  shirt  sleeves,  was  beguiling  fallen  kings 
and  queens  and  causing  them  to  forget  their  troubles  in  a  roar 
of  laughter.  Beautiful  ladies,  music,  fun,  charming  weather,  all 
combined  for  this  festival.  There  was  something  exhilarating  in 
the  dignified  and  cordial  hospitality  of  the  Duke  in  exile  ;  making 
everybody  glad  to  be  there  and  proud  to  attend  his  Sylvan  Court. 

"  Happy  is  your  Grace — that  can  translate  the  stubbornness 
of  fortune  into  so  quiet  and  so  sweet  a  style"  ...  we  might 
have  quoted  as  the  day  went  on.  The  twilight  fell,  the  music 
struck  up,  the  dancers  started  afresh,  the  wax  candles  began  to 
light  up  the  low  garden  rooms  where  the  dancing  took  place, 
outside  the  stars  were  coming  out  one  by  one,  and  the  company 
stf)pped  on  and  on.  I  can  remember  Mrs.  Norton  in  shabby 
clothes,  but  looking  more  like  a  Queen  than  anybody  else,  sitting 
in  a  bay  window  with  a  fragrant  balcony  beyond,  upon  which 
my  father  stood  talking  to  her. 

I  can  I'emember  my  father  saying  of  this  Duke  in  exile,  "  he 
has  everything  for  him,  looks,  noble  manners,  birth,  learning, 
fortune  ; — and  misfortune,"  he  added. 

And  as  I  write  these  lines  I  read  (May  18,  1897)  of  the  funeral 
at  the  Madeleine  in  Paris,  of  the  prayers  and  the  solemn  service, 
the  marks  of  respect  and  affection  from  Royal  and  from  humble 
people  who  attended  this  last  state  ceremony,  of  the  Duke,  no 
longer  in  exile,  but  restored  to  his  land  and  his  liberties.  Perhaps 
this  digression  scarcely  concerns  the  story  of  my  father's  books, 
but  it  so  far  concerns  "  Philip,"  that  it  means  an  hour's  ease  of 
mind  and  restored  good  spirits  for  the  author. 


INTRODUCTION  xli 

Here  is  a  passage  from  a  letter  to  his  mother: — 

''Jubj  5,  1862. 

"  I  can  tell  you  one  person  of  the  congregation  was  very 
thankful  for  our  preservation,  and  all  the  blessings  of  this  life 
which  have  fallen  to  us.  Think  of  the  beginning  of  the  story 
of  the  'Little  Sister'  in  the  'Shabby  Genteel  Story'  twenty 
years  ago,  and  the  wife  ill,  and  the  publisher  refusing  me  £15, 
who  owed  me  £13  10s.,  and  The  Times,  to  which  I  applied  for 
a  little  more  than  five  guineas  for  a  week's  work,  refusing  to 
give  me  more — and  all  that  money  difficulty  ended,  God  be 
praised,  and  an  old  gentleman  sitting  in  a  fine  house  like  the 
hero  at  the  end  of  the  story  ! 

"The  actual  increase  of  health  and  comfort  since  we  got  into 
the  Palazzo  is  quite  curious.  I  am  certainly  much  better  in 
body.  .  .  . 

"  I  wonder  shall  we  make  out  the  Petersburg  journey.  I 
have  a  fancy  for  it,  because  it  will  pay  itself  in  a  couple  of 
papers  that  will  be  as  easy  to  write  as  letters,  and  won't  wear 
and  tear  the  brains.  Then  we  must  do  some  more  work.  I 
think  of  the  story  which  I  began  twenty  years  ago — and  then 
and  then — and  etc.  .  .  . 

"  Did  you  read  about  poor  Buckle  when  he  got  the  fever  at 
Damascus,  crying  out,  '  O  my  book,  my  book.'  I  don't  care 
enough  about  mine  to  be  disquieted  when  that  day  comes. 
Shall  I  live  to  do  the  big  history  ?*  Who  knows?  But  I  think 
I  shall  like  to  work  on  it,  if  the  time  is  left  inc.  God  bless  you, 
dear  old  mother.  I  don't  write  by  i)ost,  but  am  writing  through 
the  printer  all  day  long."  .  .  . 

"Philip  "did  not  have  the  success  it  deserved.  To  me  it 
seems  to  contain  some  of  the  wisest  and  most  beautiful  things 
my  father  ever  wrote. 

I  can  remember  hearing  him  say  how  much  of  his  own  early- 
life  was  written  down  in  its  pages. 

Among  the  letters  which  Mr.  George  Smith  has  given  me, 
there  is  this  passage. 

*  In  an  undated  note  to  Mr.  George  Smitti  my  father  wrote:  "Come  and 
talk  to  me  about  Thk  History  of  thk  Rkkjn  ok  Qukkn  Anne,"  but  the  pro- 
ject went  no  further. 


xliv  PHILIP 

WHS  a  young  artist  of  the  name  of  Walker  who  wished  to  draw  for 
The  Cornhill  Magazine,  and  who  had  called  before  with  specimens 
of  his  drawings,  "  He  is  a  mere  boy,"  said  the  clerk.  "  I  told 
him  you  were  engaged,  as  I  did  not  think  it  would  be  of  any 
use  for  you  to  see  him,"  About  this  time  Mr.  Thackeray  was 
beginning  to  lind  it  troublesome  to  draw  on  the  wood  the  illus- 
trations for  "  The  Adventures  of  Philip,"  which  was  then  pass- 
ing through  the  magazine,  and  two  or  three  of  the  drawings  had 
been  made  on  paper,  and  afterwards  redrawn  on  wood,  but  not 
to  Mr,  Thackeray's  satisfaction. 

"When  Mr.  Walker  paid  another  visit  to  Cornhill,  and  I  saw 
his  drawings,"  Mr.  Smith  writes,  "  it  occurred  to  me  that  here 
was  the  artist  who  would  redraw  Mr.  Thackeray's  designs  satis- 
factorily. I  mentioned  the  subject  to  Mr.  Walker,  and  under- 
stood him  to  accept  the  idea ;  but  his  nervous  agitation  was 
almost  painful,  and  although  I  did  my  best  to  set  him  at  his 
ease,  he  left  65  Cornhill  without  my  being  sure  whether  my  sug- 
gestion, that  he  should  make  drawings  from  Mr.  Thackeray's 
designs,  was  acceptable  to  him  or  not. 

"  I  mentioned  the  subject  to  Mr.  Thackeray,  who  said,  '  Bring 
him  here,  and  we  shall  soon  see  whether  he  can  draw.' 

"  An  arrangement  was  made  for  me  to  call  for  Mr.  Walker, 
and  drive  him  to  Mr.  Thackeray's  house  in  Onslow  Square,  early 
one  morning  towards  the  end  of  1860.  The  drive  was  a  silent 
one,  Mr.  Walker's  agitation  being  very  marked.  When  we 
went  up  to  Mr.  Thackeray,  he  saw  at  once  how  nervous  the 
young  artist  was,  and  addressed  himself  in  the  kindest  manner 
to  remove  his  shyness.  After  a  little  time  he  said,  'Can  you 
draw  ?  Mr.  Smith  says  you  can  !'  '  Y — e — e — s,  I  think  so,' 
said  the  young  man,  who  was  within  a  few  years  to  excite  the 
admiration  of  the  whole  world  by  the  excellence  of  his  drawings. 
'  I'm  going  to  shave,'  said  Mr.  Thackeray,  '  would  you  mind 
drawing  my  l)ack?'  Mr.  Thackeray  went  to  his  toilet  table  and 
commenced  the  operation,  while  Mr.  Walker  took  a  sheet  of 
paper  and  began  his  drawing — I  looking  out  of  the  window,  in 
order  that  he  might  not  feel  that  he  was  being  watched.  I  think 
Mr.  Thackeray's  idea  of  turning  his  back  towards  him  was  as 
ingenious  as  it  was  kind ;  for  I  believe  that  if  Mr.  Walker  had 
been  asked   to   draw   his    face   instead   of  his   back,  he  would 


F    W 


FREDERICK    WALKKll  S    SKETCH    OK    TUAGKEKAY  S    HACK. 


xlvi  PHILIP 

hardly  have  been  ahle  to  hold  his  pencil.  The  result  was  pre- 
sumably satisfactory  to  Thackeray,  as  he  soon  afterwards  asked 
Mr.  Walker  to  make  a  second  drawing  of  his  back  as  a  study 
for  the  initial  letter  of  the  '  Roundabout  Papers.'  " 

"  I  spent  all  yesterday  in  great  delectation  and  rest  of  mind," 
my  father  wrote,  "  making  a  very  bad  drawing.  Young  Walker, 
who  is  twenty,  does  twice  as  well ;  and  at  twenty,  you  know, 
we  all  thought  I  was  a  genius  at  drawing.  Oh,  the  mistakes 
people  make  about  themselves  !" 

He  drew  designs  on  paper,  and  they  were  sent  to  Mr.  Walker 
to  put  upon  the  wood,  and  to  improve  if  necessary.  But  this 
was  not  the  work  the  young  man  wanted  to  do,  and  he  said  so. 
My  father,  in  reply,  dictated  the  following  letter.  It  is  given 
in  the  life  of  Walker : — 

"  Dear  Sir, — The  blocks  you  have  executed  for  The  Corn- 
hill  Magazine  have  given  so  much  satisfaction  that  I  hope  we 
may  look  for  more  from  the  same  hand.  You  told  me  that  the 
early  days  of  the  week  were  most  convenient  for  you,  and  ac- 
cordingly I  sent  last  Monday  or  Tuesday  a  couple  of  designs, 
which,  as  you  would  not  do  them,  I  was  obliged  to  confide  to 
an  older,  and  I  grieve  to  own,  much  inferior  artist.  Pray  let 
me  know  if  I  may  count  upon  you  for  my  large  cut  for  March. 
— Believe  me,  very  faithfully  yours,  W.  M.  Thackeray." 

The  older  and  inferior  artist,  it  may  be  mentioned,  was  my 
father  himself. 

Mr.  Walker's  answer,  as  his  biographer  says,  shows  the 
struggle  "  between  his  wish  not  to  oflEend  one  whom  he  so 
greatly  respected  and  his  feeling  of  what  was  due  to  his  art." 
But  both  these  ends  were  happily  attained  in  the  beautiful  illus- 
trations to  "  Philip."  One  of  them,  perhaps,  is  among  the  most 
charming  designs  Walker  ever  drew.  A  letter  is  given  in  fac- 
simile in  the  artist's  life  in  which  my  father  suggests  a  subject : 
"  Philip,  the  Little  Sister,  and  the  two  little  children  saying 
their  prayers  in  an  old-fashioned  church-pew  ;  not  Gothic.  The 
church  is  the  one  in  Queen's  Square,  Bloomsbury,  if  you  are 
curious  to  be  exact.  The  motto  Pro  concessis  heneficiis.  And 
that  will  bring  the  story  to  an  end.  I  am  sorry  it's  over.  And 
you  ?— Yours,  W.  M.  T." 


^     'Pi|J-,Mf.«!ii;'|iiSr,  . /^ 


\) 


INTRODUCTION  xlvii 

The  most  delightful  of  all  the  wood-blocks  is  undoubtedly  this 
drawing  of  Philip  in  church.  My  father,  when  we  were  chil- 
dren, often  took  us  to  the  early  nine  o'clock  service  in  the  old 
parish  church  of  Kensington.  It  is  not  the  present  church,  but 
the  old  brick  edifice  which  still  stands  there  for  some  of  us, 
with  its  square  tower  and  its  tiagstaff  and  the  pen-like  pews 
and  galleries  and  the  high  hassocks,  through  which  the  straws 
used  to  protrude,  and  with  the  carved  tomb  of  the  Earls  of 
Warwick  in  the  dark  corner,  opposite  our  pew. 

The  archdeacon  did  not  read  the  service  in  the  mornings  ; 
there  was  a  curate  who  seemed  to  us  only  next  to  him  in  im- 
portance, and  for  whom  my  father  had  a  great  liking.  The 
charity  boys  in  their  quaint  dresses  used  to  troop  in  with 
tramplings  of  little  thick  boots,  and  shout  the  responses  some- 
what promiscuously. 

It  was  darkish,  dampish,  there  were  long  streaks  of  light 
starting  from  the  windows.  The  picture  of  Philip  in  church 
always  seems  to  me  to  be  a  picture  of  our  pew  in  St.  Mary 
Abbott's  as  it  was  in  my  youth;  full  of  peaceful  organ  notes 
and  hopes  which  have  been  unfulfilled.  Put  I  think  the  reali- 
ties, and  even  many  of  the  disappointments  of  life  have  been 
better  than  ever  were  the  childish  dreams  of  those  early  days. 


A.  1.  K. 


A 
SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY 


A 

SHABBY    GENTEEL    STOBY 

CHAPTER   I 

AT  that  remarkable  period  when  Louis  XVIII.  was  restored  a 
second  time  to  the  throne  of  liis  fathers,  and  all  the  English 
^  who  had  money  or  leisure  rushed  over  to  the  Continent, 
there  lived  in  a  certain  boarding-house  at  Brussels  a  genteel  young 
widow,  who  bore  the  elegant  name  of  Mrs.  Wellesley  Macarty. 

In  the  same  house  and  room  with  the  widow  lived  her  mamma, 
a  lady  who  was  called  Mrs.  Crabb.  Both  ])rofessed  to  be  rather 
fashionable  people.  The  Crabbs  were  of  a  very  old  English  stock, 
and  the  Macartys  were,  as  the  world  knows,  County  Cork  people ; 
related  to  the  Sheenys,  Finnigans,  Clancys,  and  other  distinguished 
families  in  their  part  of  Ireland.  But  Ensign  Wellesley  Mac,  not 
having  a  shilling,  ran  off  with  Miss  Crabl),  who  possessetl  the  same 
independence ;  and  after  having  been  married  about  six  mouths  to 
the  Lady,  was  carried  off  suddenly,  on  the  18th  of  June,  1815,  by 
a  disease  very  prevalent  in  those  glorious  times — the  fatal  cannon- 
sliot  morbus.  He,  and  many  hundred  young  fellows  of  his  regiment, 
the  Clonakilty  Fencibles,  were  attacked  by  this  epidemic  on  the 
same  day,  at  a  place  about  ten  miles  from  Brussels,  and  there 
])('rished.  The  Ensign's  lady  had  accompanied  her  luisband  to  the 
Continent,  and  aliout  five  months  after  his  death  brought  into  the 
world  two  remarkal)ly  fine  female  children. 

Mrs.  Wellcsley's  mother  had  been  reconciled  to  her  daugliter  by 
this  time — for,  in  trutli,  Mrs.  Crabb  liad  no  other  child  hut  her 
runaway  Juliana,  to  Aviiom  she  flew  when  she  heard  of  her  destitute 
condition.  And,  indeed,  it  was  high  time  that  some  one  should 
come  to  tlie  yomig  widow's  aid  ;  for  as  her  husband  did  not  leave 
money,  nor  anything  that  re])resente(l  money,  except  a  number  of 
tailors'  and  bootmakers'  bills,  neatly  docketed,  in  his  writing-desk, 


4  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

Mr.s.   Wellesley  was  in  danger  of  starvation,   should  no   friendly 
person  assist  her. 

Mrs.  Crabb,  then,  came  off'  to  her  daughter,  whom  the  Sheenys, 
Finnigans,  and  Clancys  refused,  with  one  scornful  voice,  to  assist. 
The  fact  is,  that  Mr.  Crabb  had  once  been  butler  to  a  lord,  and  his 
lady  a  lady's-maid ;  and  at  Crabb's  death,  Mrs.  Crabb  disposed  of 
the  "Ram"  hotel  and  posting-house,  where  her  husband  had  made 
three  thousand  pounds,  and  was  living  in  genteel  ease  in  a  country 
town,  when  Ensign  Macarty  came,  saw,  and  ran  away  with  Juliana. 
Of  such  a  connection  it  was  impossible  that  the  great  Clancys  and 
Finnigans  could  take  notice ;  and  so  once  more  Widow  Crabb  was 
compelled  to  share  with  her  daughter  her  small  income  of  a  hundred 
and  twenty  a  year. 

Upon  this,  at  a  boarding-house  in  Brussels,  the  two  managed 
to  live  pretty  smartly,  and  to  maintain  an  honourable  reputation. 
The  twins  were  put  out,  after  the  foreign  fashion,  to  nurse,  at  a 
village  in  the  neighbourhood ;  for  Mrs.  Macarty  had  been  too  ill 
to  luirse  them ;  and  Mrs.  Crabb  could  not  aflford  to  purchase  t"hat 
most  expensive  article,  a  private  wet-nurse. 

There  had  been  numberless  tiffs  and  quarrels  between  mother 
and  daughter  when  the  latter  was  in  her  maiden  state  ;  and  Mrs. 
Crabb  was,  to  tell  the  truth,  in  nowise  sorry  when  her  Jooly  dis- 
appeared with  the  Ensign, — for  the  old  lady  dearly  loved  a  gentle- 
man, and  was  not  a  little  flattered  at  being  the  mother  to  Mrs. 
Ensign  Macarty.  Why  the  Ensign  should  have  run  away  with  his 
lady  at  all,  as  he  might  have  had  her  for  the  asking,  is  no  business 
of  ours  ;  nor  are  we  going  to  rake  up  old  stories  and  village  scandals, 
which  insinuate  that  Miss  Crabb  ran  away  with  him,  for  with  these 
points  the  writer  and  the  reader  have  nothing  to  do. 

Well,  then,  the  reconciled  mother  and  daughter  lived  once  more 
together,  at  Brussels.  In  the  course  of  a  year,  Mrs.  Macarty's 
sorrow  had  much  abated ;  and  having  a  great  natural  love  of  dress, 
and  a  tolerably  handsome  face  and  person,  she  was  induced,  without 
much  reluctance,  to  throw  her  weeds  aside,  and  to  appear  in  tlie 
most  becoming  and  varied  costumes  which  her  means  and  ingenuity 
could  furnish.  Considering,  indeed,  the  smallness  of  the  former,  it 
was  agreed  on  all  hands  that  Mrs.  Crabb  and  her  daughter  deserved 
wonderful  credit, — that  is,  they  managed  to  keep  up  as  respectable 
an  appearance  as  if  they  had  five  hundred  a  year ;  and  at  church, 
at  tea-parties,  and  abroad  in  the  streets,  to  be  what  is  called  quite 
the  gentlewomen.  If  they  starved  at  home,  nobody  saw  it ;  if  they 
patched  and  pieced,  nobody  (it  was  to  be  hoped)  knew  it ;  if  they 
bragged  about  their  relations  and  property,  could  any  one  say  them 
nay'?     Thus  they  lived,  hanging  on  with  desperate  energy  to  the 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  5 

skirts  of  genteel  society ;  Mrs.  Crabb,  a  sharp  woman,  rather 
respected  her  daughter's  superior  rank ;  and  Mrs.  Macarty  did  not 
(juarrel  so  much  as  lieretofore  with  her  mamma,  on  wliom  herself 
and  her  two  children  were  entirely  dependent. 

While  affiiirs  were  at  this  jimcture,  it  happened  that  a  young 
Englishman,  James  Gann,  Esq.,  of  the  great  oil-house  of  Gann, 
Blubbery  and  Gann  (as  he  took  care  to  tell  you  before  you  had  been 
an  hour  in  his  company), — it  happened,  I  say,  that  James  Gann, 
Esq.,  came  to  Brussels  for  a  month,  for  the  purpose  of  perfecting 
himself  in  the  French  language  ;  and  while  in  that  capital  went  to 
lodge  at  the  very  boarding-house  which  contained  Mrs.  Crabb  and 
her  daughter.  Gann  was  young,  weak,  inflammable  :  he  saw  and 
adored  Mrs.  Wellesley  Macarty ;  and  she,  who  Avas  at  this  period 
all  but  engaged  to  a  stout  old  wooden-legged  Scotch  regimental 
surgeon,  pitilessly  sent  Dr.  M'Lint  about  his  business,  and  accepted 
the  addresses  of  Mr.  Gann.  How  the  young  man  arranged  matters 
with  his  papa  tlie  senior  partner,  I  don't  know ;  but  it  is  certain 
that  there  was  a  quarrel,  and  afterwards  a  reconciliation;  and  it  is 
also  known  that  James  Gann  fought  a  duel  witli  the  surgeon, — • 
receiving  tlie  ^sculapian  fire,  and  discharging  his  own  bullet  into 
the  azure  skies.  About  nine  thousand  times  in  the  course  of  liis 
after  years  did  Mr.  Gann  narrate  the  liistory  of  the  combat ;  it 
enabled  him  to  go  through  life  with  the  reputation  of  a  man  of 
courage,  and  won  for  him,  as  he  said  with  pride,  the  hand  of  his 
Juliana  :  perhaps  this  was  rather  a  questionable  benefit. 

One  part  of  the  tale,  however,  honest  James  never  did  dare  to 
tell,  except  when  peculiarly  excited  by  wrath  or  liquor  ;  it  was  tliis  : 
that  on  the  day  after  the  wedding,  and  in  the  presence  of  many 
friends  who  had  come  to  offer  their  congratulations,  a  stout  nurse, 
bearing  a  brace  of  chul)l)y  little  ones,  made  lier  appearance:  and 
these  rosy  urchins,  springing  forward  at  the  sight  of  Mrs.  James 
Gann,  shouted  aflcctionately,  "Jfajyian!  viaman  !  "  at  which  the 
lady,  blushing  rosy  red,  said,  "James,  these  two  are  yours;"  and 
poor  James  well-nigh  fainted  at  this  sudden  paternity  so  put  upon 
him.  "  CInldren  !  "  screamed  he,  agliast ;  "  whose  children  ?  "  at 
which  Mrs.  Crabb,  majestically  checking  him,  said,  "  These,  my 
dear  James,  are  the  daughters  of  the  gallant  and  good  Ensign 
Macarty,  whose  widow  you  yesterday  led  to  the  altar.  May  you 
be  happy  with  her,  and  may  these  blessed  children  "  (tears)  "  find 
in  you  a  father,  who  shall  re])lace  him  that  fell  in  the  field  of 
glory  ! " 

Mrs.  Crabl),  Mrs.  James  Gann,  Mrs.  Major  Lolly,  Mrs.  Pifller, 
and  several  ladies  present,  set  up  a  sob  immediately  ;  and  James 
Gann,  a  good-humoured,  suft-heartcd  man,  was  (piite  taken  aback. 


6  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

Kissing  his  lady  hurriedly,  he  vowed  that  he  would  take  care  of  the 
poor  little  things,  and  proposed  to  kiss  them  likewise  ;  which  caress 
the  darlings  refused  with  many  roars.  Gann's  fate  was  sealed  from 
that  minute ;  and  he  was  X)roperly  henpecked  by  his  wife  and 
mother-in-law  during  the  life  of  the  latter.  Indeed,  it  was  to  Mrs. 
Crabb  that  the  stratagem  of  the  infant  concealment  was  due ;  for 
when  her  daughter  innocently  proposed  to  have  or  to  see  the  chil- 
dren, the  old  lady  strongly  pointed  out  the  folly  of  such  an  arrange- 
ment, whi(^h  might,  perhaps,  frighten  away  Mr.  Gann  from  the 
delightful  matrimonial  trap  into  wliich  (lucky  rogue  !)  he  was  about 
to  fall. 

Soon  after  the  marriage,  the  happy  pair  returned  to  England, 
occupying  the  house  in  Thames  Street,  City,  until  the  death  of 
Gann  senior ;  when  his  son,  becoming  head  of  the  firm  of  Gann 
and  Blubbery,  quitted  the  dismal  precincts  of  Billingsgate  and 
colonised  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Putney ;  where  a  neat  box,  a 
couple  of  spare  bedrooms,  a  good  cellar,  and  a  smart  gig  to  drive 
into  and  out  from  town,  made  a  real  gentleman  of  him.  Mrs.  Gann 
treated  him  with  much  scorn,  to  be  sure,  called  him  a  sot,  and 
abused  hugely  the  male  companions  that  he  brought  down  with 
him  to  Putney.  Honest  James  would  listen  meekly,  would  yield, 
and  would  bring  down  a  brace  more  friends  the  next  day,  with 
whom  he  would  discuss  his  accustomed  number  of  bottles  of  port. 
Aljout  this  period  a  daughter  was  born  to  him,  called  Caroline 
Brandenburg  Gann ;  so  named  after  a  large  mansion  near  Hammer- 
smith, and  an  injured  queen  who  lived  there  at  the  time  of  the 
little  girl's  birth,  and  who  was  greatly  compassioned  and  patronised 
by  Mrs.  James  Gann  and  other  ladies  of  distinction.  Mrs.  James 
was  a  lady  in  those  days,  and  gave  evening-parties  of  the  very 
first  order. 

At  this  period  of  time,  Mrs.  James  Gann  sent  the  twins, 
Rosalind  Clancy  and  Isabella  Finnigan  Wellesley  Macarty,  to 
a  boarding-school  for  young  ladies,  and  grumbled  much  at  the 
amount  of  the  lialf-years'  bills  which  her  husband  was  called  upon 
to  jiay  for  them ;  for  though  James  discharged  them  with  perfect 
good-humour,  his  lady  began  to  entertain  a  mean  opinion  indeed 
of  her  pretty  young  children.  They  could  expect  no  fortune,  she 
said,  from  Mr.  Gann,  and  she  wondered  that  he  should  think  of 
bringing  them  up  expensively,  when  he  had  a  darling  child  of  his 
own,  for  whom  he  was  bound  to  save  all  the  money  that  he  could 
lay  by. 

Grandmamma,  too,  doted  on  the  little  Caroline  Brandenburg, 
and  vowed  that  she  would  leave  her  three  thousand  pounds  to 
this  dear  infant ;  for  in  this  way  docs  the  world  show  its  respect 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  7 

for  that  most  respectable  thing  prosperity.  Who  in  this  life  get 
the  smiles,  and  the  acts  of  friendsliip,  and  tlie  pleasing  legacies  ? — 
The  rich.  And  I  do,  for  my  part,  heartily  wish  tliat  some  one 
would  leave  me  a  trifle — say  twenty  thousand  pounds — being 
perfectly  confident  that  some  one  else  would  leave  me  more ;  and 
that  I  should  sink  into  my  grave  worth  a  plum  at  least. 

Little  Caroline  then  had  her  maid,  her  airy  nursery,  her  little 
carriage  to  drive  in,  the  promise  of  her  grandmamma's  consols, 
and  that  priceless  treasure — her  mamma's  undivided  affection. 
Gann,  too,  loved  her  sincerely,  in  his  careless  good-humoured 
way;  but  he  determined,  notwithstanding,  that  his  step-daughters 
should  have  something  handsome  at  his  death,  but — but  for  a 
great  But. 

Gann  and  Blubbery  were  in  the  oil  line, — have  we  not  said 
so  1  Their  profits  arose  from  contracts  for  lighting  a  great  number 
of  streets  in  London ;  and  about  this  period  Gas  came  into  use. 
Gann  and  Blulibery  appeared  in  the  Gazette ;  and,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  so  bad  had  been  the  management  of  Blubbery, — so  great  the 
extravagance  of  both  partners  and  their  ladies, — that  they  only 
paid  their  creditors  fourteenpence  halfpenny  in  the  pound. 

When  Mrs.  Crabb  heard  of  this  dreadful  accident — Mrs.  Crabb, 
who  dined  thrice  a  week  with  her  son-in-law ;  who  never  would 
have  been  allowed  to  enter  the  house  at  all  had  not  honest  James 
interposed  his  good  nature  between  her  (piarrelsome  daughter  and 
herself — Mrs.  Crabb,  I  say,  proclaimed  James  Gann  to  be  a 
swindler,  a  villain,  a  disreputable,  tijisy,  vulgar  man,  and  made  over 
her  money  to  the  Misses  Rosalind  Clancy  and  Isabella  Finnigan 
Macarty  ;  leaving  i)()or  little  Caroline  without  one  single  maravedi. 
Half  of  one  thousand  five  hundred  jjounds  allotted  to  each  was  to 
be  paid  at  marriage,  the  other  half  on  the  death  of  Mrs.  James 
Gann,  who  was  to  enjoy  the  interest  thereof  Thus  do  we  rise  and 
fall  in  this  world — thus  does  Fortune  shake  her  swift  wings,  and 
bid  us  abruptly  to  resign  the  gifts  (or  rather  loans)  which  we  have 
had  from  her. 

How  Gann  and  his  family  lived  after  their  stroke  of  misfortune, 
I  know  not;  but  as  the  failing  tradesman  is  going  through  the  i)ro- 
cess  of  bankrui)t('y,  and  for  some  months  afterwards,  it  may  be 
remarked  that  he  has  usually  some  mysterious  means  of  subsistence 
— stray  spars  of  the  wreck  of  his  i)roperty,  on  which  he  manages 
to  seize,  and  to  float  for  a  while.  Luring  his  retirement,  in  an 
obscure  lodging  in  Lambeth,  where  the  poor  fellow  was  so  tormented 
by  bis  wife  as  to  be  compelled  to  fly  to  the  public-house  for  refuge, 
Mrs.  Crabb  died ;  a  hundred  a  year  thus  came  into  the  possession 
of  Mrs.  Gann  ;  and  some  of  James's  friends,  who  thought  him  a 


8  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

good  fellow  in  his  prosperity,  came  forward,  and  furnished  a  house, 
in  which  they  placed  him,  and  came  to  see  and  comfort  him.  Then 
they  came  to  see  him  not  quite  so  often  ;  then  they  found  out  that 
Mrs.  Gann  was  a  sad  tyrant,  and  a  silly  woman ;  then  the  ladies 
declared  her  to  be  insupi)ortalile,  and  Gann  to  be  a  low  tipsy 
fellow :  and  the  gentlemen  could  but  shake  their  heads,  and  admit 
tliat  the  charge  was  true.  Then  they  left  off  coming  to  see  him 
altogether  ;  for  such  is  the  way  of  the  world,  where  many  of  us 
have  good  impulses,  and  are  generous  on  an  occasion,  but  are 
wearied  by  perpetual  want,  and  begin  to  grow  angry  at  its  im- 
portunities— being  very  properly  vexed  at  the  daily  recurrence  of 
hunger,  and  the  impudent  unreasonableness  of  starvation.  Gann, 
then,  had  a  genteel  wife  and  children,  a  furnished  house,  and  a 
hundred  pounds  a  year.  How  should  he  live  ?  The  wife  of  James 
Gann,  Esq.,  would  never  allow  him  to  demean  himself  by  taking  a 
clerk's  place ;  and  James  himself,  being  as  idle  a  fellow  as  ever  was 
known,  was  fain  to  acquiesce  in  this  determination  of  hers,  and 
to  wait  for  some  more  genteel  employment.  And  a  curious  list  of 
such  genteel  employments  might  be  made  out,  were  one  inclined  to 
follow  tliis  interesting  subject  far;  shabby  compromises  with  the 
world,  into  which  poor  fellows  enter,  and  still  fondly  talk  of  their 
"  position,"  and  strive  to  imagine  that  they  are  really  working  for 
their  bread. 

Numberless  lodging-houses  are  kept  by  the  females  of  families 
who  have  met  with  reverses  :  are  not  "  boarding-houses,  with  a 
select  musical  society,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  squares," 
maintained  by  such  1  Do  not  the  gentlemen  of  the  boarding-houses 
issue  forth  every  morning  to  the  City,  or  make  believe  to  go  thither, 
on  some  mysterious  business  whii^h  they  have?  After  a  certain 
period,  Mrs.  James  Gann  kept  a  lodging-house  (in  her  own  words, 
received  "  two  inmates  into  her  family  "),  and  Mr.  Gann  had  his 
mysterious  business. 

In  the  year  1835,  when  this  story  begins,  there  stood  in  a 
certain  back  street  in  the  town  of  Margate  a  house  on  the  door  of 
which  might  be  read,  in  gleaming  brass,  the  name  of  Mr.  Gann. 
It  was  the  work  of  a  single  snuitty  servant-maid  to  clean  this  brass 
plate  every  morning,  and  to  attend  as  far  as  possible  to  the  wants 
of  Mr.  Gann,  his  family,  and  lodgers  ;  and  his  house  being  not  very 
far  from  the  sea,  and  as  you  might,  by  climbing  up  to  the  roof,  get 
a  sight  between  two  chimneys  of  that  multitudinous  element,  Mrs. 
Gann  set  down  her  lodgings  as  fashionable ;  and  declared  on  her 
cards  that  her  house  commanded  "a  fine  view  of  the  sea." 

On  the  wire  window-blind  of  the  parlour  was  written,  in  large 
characters,  the  word  Office  ;  and  here  it  was  that  Gann's  services 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  9 

came  into  play.  He  was  very  much  clianged,  poor  fellow  !  and 
humbled ;  and  from  two  cards  that  hung  outside  the  blind,  I  am 
led  to  believe  that  he  did  not  disdain  to  be  agent  to  the  "  London 
and  Jamaica  Ginger-Beer  Comi)any,"  and  also  for  a  certain  prepara- 
tion called  "  Gaster's  Infants'  Farinacio,  or  Mothers'  Invigorating 
Substitute," — a  damp,  black,  mouldy  half-pound  jmcket  of  which 
stood  in  permanence  at  one  end  of  the  "  office  "  mantelpiece  ;  while 
a  fly-blown  ginger-beer  bottle  occupied  the  other  extremity 
Nothing  else  indicated  that  this  ground-floor  chamber  was  an  oflice, 
except  a  huge  black  inkstand,  in  which  stood  a  stumjiy  jien,  richly 
crusted  with  ink  at  the  nib,  and  to  all  ap])earance  for  many  months 
enjoying  a  sinecure. 

To  this  room  you  saw  every  day,  at  two  o'clock,  the  employd 
from  the  neighbouring  hotel  bring  two  quarts  of  beer ;  and  if  you 
called  at  that  hour,  a  tremendous  smoke,  and  smell  of  dinner, 
would  gush  out  upon  you  from  the  "  office,"  as  you  stumbled  over 
sundry  battered  tin  dish-covers,  which  lay  gaping  at  the  threshold. 
Thus  had  that  great  bulwark  of  gentihty,  the  dining  at  six  o'clock, 
been  broken  in  ;  and  the  reader  must  therefore  judge  that  the 
house  of  Gann  was  in  a  demoralised  state. 

Gann  certainly  was.  After  the  hulics  had  retired  to  the  back- 
parlour  (which,  with  yellow  gauze  round  the  frames,  window- 
curtains,  a  red  silk  cabinet  piano,  and  an  album,  was  still  tolerably 
genteel),  Gann  remained,  to  transact  business  in  the  office.  This 
took  place  in  the  presence  of  friends,  and  usually  consisted  in  the 
production  of  a  bottle  of  gin  from  the  corner  cupboard,  or,  mayhap, 
a  litre  of  brandy,  which  was  given  by  Gann  with  a  knowing  wink, 
and  a  fat  finger  ])laced  on  a  twinkling  red  nose :  when  Mrs.  G.  was 
out,  James  would  also  j)roduce  a  number  of  pi]ies,  that  gave  this 
room  a  constant  and  agre(>able  odour  of  shag  tobacco. 

In  fact,  Mr.  Gann  had  nothing  to  do  from  morning  till  night. 
He  was  now  a  ftxt  bald-headed  luan  of  fifty  :  a  dirty  dandy  on 
week-days,  witli  a  shawl-waistcoat,  a  tuft  of  hair  to  his  great  double 
chin,  a  snufl'y  shirt-frill  and  enormous  breast-pin  and  seals  :  he  had 
a  pilot-coat,  with  large  m()ther-of-i)eai'l  butt(jns,  and  always  wore  a 
great  rattling  telescope,  with  whicli  he  might  be  seen  for  hours  on 
the  sea-shore  or  the  pier,  examining  the  ships,  the  bathing-machines, 
the  ladies'  schools  as  tiiey  paraded  up  and  down  tlie  esplanade,  ami 
all  other  objects  which  the  telescopic  view  might  give  him.  He 
knew  every  person  connected  with  every  one  of  the  Deal  and  Dover 
coaches,  and  was  sure  to  be  witness  to  the  arrival  or  departure  of 
several  of  them  in  the  course  of  the  day ;  he  had  a  word  for  the 
ostler  about  "that  grey  mare,"  a  nod  for  the  "shooter"  or  guard, 
and  a  bow  for  the  dragsman  ;  he  coidd  send  parcels  for  nothing  up 


10  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STOEY 

to  town ;  had  twice  had  Sir  Rumble  Tumble  (the  noble  driver  of 
the  Flash-o'-lightning-light-four-inside-post-coach)  "  up  at  his  place," 
and  took  care  to  tell  you  that  some  of  tlie  party  were  pretty 
considerably  "sewn  up,"  too.  He  did  not  frequent  the  large 
hotels;  but  in  revenge  he  knew  every  person  who  entered  or  left 
them ;  and  was  a  great  man  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails "  and  the 
"Magpie  and  Punchbowl,"  where  he  was  president  of  a  club;  he 
took  the  bass  in  "  Mynheer  Van  Dunck,"  "  The  Wolf,"  and  many 
other  morsels  of  concerted  song,  and  used  to  go  backwards  and 
forwards  to  London  in  the  steamers  as  often  as  ever  he  liked,  and 
have  his  "grub,"  too,  on  board.  Such  was  James  Gann.  Many 
people,  when  they  wrote  to  him,  addressed  him  James  Gann,  Esq. 

His  reverses  and  former  splendours  afforded  a  never-failing 
theme  of  conversation  to  honest  Gann  and  the  whole  of  his  family ; 
and  it  may  be  remarked  that  such  pecuniary  misfortunes,  as  they 
are  called,  are  by  no  means  misfortunes  to  people  of  certain  dis- 
positions, but  actual  pieces  of  good  luck.  Gann,  for  instance,  used 
to  drink  liberally  of  port  and  claret,  when  the  house  of  Gann  and 
Blubbery  was  in  existence,  and  was  henceforth  compelled  to  imbibe 
only  brandy  and  gin.  Now  he  loved  these  a  thousand  times  more 
than  the  wine ;  and  had  the  advantage  of  talking  about  the  latter, 
and  of  his  great  merit  in  giving  them  up.  In  those  prosperous 
days,  too,  being  a  gentleman,  he  could  not  frequent  the  public-house 
as  he  did  at  present;  and  the  sanded  tavern-parlour  was  Gann's 
supreme  enjoyment.  He  was  obliged  to  spend  many  hours  daily  in 
a  dark  unsavoury  room  in  an  aUey  off  Thames  Street ;  and  Gann 
hated  books  and  business,  except  of  other  people's.  His  tastes 
were  low ;  he  loved  public-house  jokes  and  company ;  and  now 
being  fallen,  was  voted  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  and  the  "  Magpie  " 
before  mentioned,  a  tip-top  fellow  and  real  gentleman,  whereas  he 
had  been  considered  an  ordinary  vulgar  man  by  his  fashionable 
associates  at  Putney.  Many  men  are  there  who  are  made  to  fall, 
and  to  profit  by  the  tumble. 

As  for  Mrs.  G.,  or  Jooly,  as  she  was  indifferently  called  by  her 
husband,  she,  too,  had  gained  by  her  losses.  She  bragged  of  her 
former  acquaintances  in  the  most  extraordinary  way,  and  to  hear 
her  you  would  fancy  that  she  was  known  to  and  connected  with 
half  the  peei'age.  Her  chief  occupation  was  taking  medicine,  and 
mending  and  altering  her  gowns.  She  had  a  huge  taste  for  cheap 
finery,  loved  raffles,  tea-parties,  and  walks  on  the  pier,  where  she 
flaunted  herself  and  daughters  as  gay  as  butterflies.  She  stood 
upon  her  rank,  did  not  fail  to  tell  her  lodgers  that  she  was  "a 
gentlewoman,"  and  was  mighty  sharp  with  Becky  the  maid,  and 
poor  Carry,  her  youngest  child. 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  11 

For  the  tide  of  affection  had  turned  now,  and  the  "Misses 
Wellesley  Macarty"  were  the  darlings  of  their  mother's  heart,  as 
Caroline  had  been  in  the  early  days  of  Putney  prosperity.  Mrs. 
Gann  respected  and  loved  her  elder  daughters,  the  stately  heiresses 
of  £1500,  and  scorned  poor  Caroline,  who  was  likewise  scorned 
(like  Cinderella  in  the  sweetest  of  all  stories)  by  her  brace  of  hauglity 
tlioughtless  sisters.  These  young  women  were  tall,  well-grown, 
lilack-browed  girls,  little  scrupulous,  fond  of  fun,  and  having  great 
health  and  spirits.  Caroline  was  pale  and  thin,  and  had  fair  hair 
and  meek  grey  eyes ;  nobody  thought  her  a  beauty  in  her  moping 
cotton  gown ;  whereas  the  sisters,  in  flaunting  printed  muslins,  with 
])ink  scarfs,  and  artificial  flowers,  and  brass /erro?iwte?-es,  and  other 
fallals,  were  voted  very  charming  and  genteel  by  the  Ganns'  circle 
of  friends.  They  had  pink  cheeks,  white  shoulders,  and  many 
glossy  curls  stuck  about  their  shining  foreheads,  as  damp  and  as 
black  as  leeches.  Such  charms,  madam,  cannot  fail  of  having  their 
effect ;  and  it  was  very  lucky  for  Caroline  that  she  did  not  possess 
them,  for  she  might  have  been  rendered  as  vain,  frivolous,  and 
vulgar,  as  these  young  ladies  were. 

While  these  enjoyed  their  pleasures  and  tea-parties  abroad,  it 
was  Carry's  usual  fate  to  remain  at  home,  and  help  the  ser\'ant  in 
the  many  duties  which  w^ere  required  in  Mrs.  Gann's  establisliment. 
Slie  dressed  that  lady  and  her  sisters,  brought  her  papa  his  tea  in 
bed,  kept  the  lodgers'  bills,  bore  their  scoldings  if  they  were  ladies, 
and  sometimes  gave  a  hand  in  the  kitchen  if  any  extra  piecrust  or 
cookery  was  required.  At  two  she  made  a  little  toilet  for  dinner, 
and  was  employed  on  numberless  household  darnings  and  mendings 
in  the  long  evenings,  while  her  sisters  giggled  over  the  jingling 
piano,  mamma  sprawled  on  the  sofa,  and  Gann  was  over  his  ghiss 
at  the  club.  A  weary  lot,  in  sooth,  was  yours,  poor  little  Caroline  ! 
since  the  days  of  your  infancy,  not  one  hour  of  sunshine,  no  friend- 
shii),  no  cheery  ])]ayfellows,  no  mother's  love  ;  but  tliat  being  ilead, 
the  affections  wliicli  would  have  crept  round  it,  withered  and  died 
too.  Only  James  Gann,  of  all  the  household,  had  a  good-natured 
look  for  her,  and  a  coarse  word  of  kindness ;  nor,  indeed,  did 
Caroline  complain,  nor  shed  many  tears,  nor  call  for  death,  as  she 
would  if  she  had  been  brought  up  in  genteeler  circles.  The  poor 
thing  did  not  know  her  own  situation ;  her  misery  Avas  dumb  and 
patient ;  it  is  such  as  thousands  and  thousands  of  women  in  our 
society  bear,  and  i)ine,  and  die  of;  made  uj)  of  suras  of  small  tyrannies, 
and  long  indifference,  and  bitter  wearisome  injustice,  more  dreadful 
to  bear  than  any  tortures  that  we  of  the  stronger  sex  are  pleased 
to  cry  A?!  All  al)out.  In  our  inten^ourse  with  the  world — (which 
is  conducted  witli  that  kind  of  cordiality  that  we  see  in  Sir  Harry 


12  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

and  my  Lady  in  a  comedy — a  couple  of  painted  grinning  fools, 
talking  parts  that  they  have  learned  out  of  a  book) — as  we  sit  and 
look  at  the  smiling  actors,  we  get  a  glimpse  behind  the  scenes  from 
time  to  time ;  and  alas  for  the  wretched  nature  that  appears  there  ! 
— among  women  especially,  who  deceive  even  more  than  men,  having 
more  to  hide,  feeling  more,  living  more  than  we  who  have  our 
business,  i)leasure,  ambition,  wliich  carries  us  abroad.  Ours  are 
the  great  strokes  of  misfortune,  as  they  are  called,  and  theirs  the 
small  miseries.  While  the  male  thinks,  labours,  and  battles  without, 
the  domestic  woes  and  wrongs  are  the  lot  of  the  women ;  and  the 
little  ills  are  so  bad,  so  infinitely  fiercer  and  bitterer  than  the  great, 
that  I  would  not  change  my  condition — no,  not  to  be  Helen,  Queen 
Elizabeth,  Mrs.  Coutts,  or  the  luckiest  she  in  history. 

Well,  then,  in  the  manner  we  have  described  lived  the  Gann 
family.  Mr.  Gann  all  the  better  for  his  "  misfortimes,"  Mrs.  Gann 
little  the  worse;  the  two  young  ladies  greatly  improved  by  the 
circumstance,  having  been  cast  thereby  into  a  society  where  their 
expected  three  thousand  pounds  made  great  heiresses  of  them  ;  and 
poor  Caroline,  as  luckless  a  being  as  any  that  the  wide  sun  shone 
upon.  Better  to  be  alone  in  tlie  world  and  utterly  friendless,  than 
to  have  sham  friends  and  no  sympathy ;  ties  of  kindred  which  bind 
one  as  it  were  to  the  corpse  of  relationship,  and  oblige  one  to 
bear  through  life  the  weight  and  the  embraces  of  this  lifeless  cold 
connection. 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Caroline  would  ever  have  made  use 
of  this  metaphor,  or  suspected  that  her  conneotion  with  her  mamma 
and  sisters  was  anything  so  loathsome.  She  felt  that  she  was  ill- 
treated,  and  had  no  companion;  but  was  not  on  that  account 
envious,  only  humble  and  depressed,  not  desiring  so  much  to  re- 
sist as  to  bear  injustice,  and  hardly  venturing  to  think  for  herself. 
This  tyranny  and  humility  served  her  in  place  of  education,  and 
formed  her  manners,  which  were  wonderfully  gentle  and  calm.  It 
was  strange  to  see  such  a  person  growing  up  in  such  a  family ;  the 
neighbours  spoke  of  her  with  much  scornful  compassion.  "  A  poor 
half-witted  thing,"  they  said,  "  who  could  not  say  bo  !  to  a  goose  ; " 
and  I  think  it  is  one  good  test  of  gentility  to  be  thus  looked  down 
on  by  vulgar  people. 

It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  the  elder  girls  had  reached  their 
present  age  without  receiving  a  number  of  offers  of  marriage,  and 
been  warmly  in  love  a  great  many  times.  But  many  unfortunate 
occurrences  had  compelled  them  to  remain  in  their  virgin  condi- 
tion. There  was  an  attorney  who  had  proposed  to  Rosalind ;  but 
finding  that  she  would  receive  only  £750  down,  instead  of  £1500, 
the  monster  had  jilted  her  pitilessly,  handsome  as  she  was.     An 


A   SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  13 

apothecary,  too,  had  been  smitten  by  her  charms ;  but  to  live  in 
a  shop  was  beneath  tlie  dignity  of  a  Wellesley  Macarty,  and  she 
waited  for  better  things.  Lieutenant  Swabber,  of  the  coast-guard 
service,  had  lodged  two  montlis  at  Gann's ;  and  if  letters,  long 
walks,  and  town-talk  could  settle  a  match,  a  match  between  him 
and  Isabella  must  have  taken  place.  Well,  Isabella  was  not 
married ;  and  the  lieutenant,  a  colonel  in  Spain,  seemed  to  have 
given  up  all  thoughts  of  her.  She  meanwhile  consoled  herself  with 
a  gay  young  wine-merchant,  who  had  lately  established  himself  at 
Brighton,  kept  a  gig,  rode  out  with  the  hounds,  and  was  voted 
perfectly  genteel ;  and  there  was  a  certain  French  marquess,  with 
the  most  elegant  black  mustachios,  who  had  made  a  vast  impression 
upon  the  heart  of  Rosalind,  having  met  her  first  at  the  circulating 
library,  and  afterwards,  by  the  most  extraordinary  series  of  chances, 
coming  upon  her  and  her  sister  daily  in  their  walks  upon  the  pier. 

Meek  little  Caroline,  meanwhile,  trampled  upon  though  she  was, 
was  springing  up  to  womanhood ;  and,  tliough  pale,  freckled,  thin, 
meanly  dressed,  had  a  certain  charm  about  her  which  some  people 
might  prefer  to  the  cheap  splendours  and  rude  red  and  white  of  the 
Misses  Macarty.  In  fact  we  have  now  come  to  a  period  of  her 
history  when,  to  the  amaze  of  her  mamma  and  sisters,  and  not  a 
little  to  the  satisfaction  of  James  Gann,  Esquire,  she  actually 
inspired  a  passion  in  the  breast  of  a  very  respectable  yoimg  man. 


CHAPTER   II 

HOn'  MRS.   GANN  RECEIVED   TWO  LODGERS 

IT  was  the  winter  season  when  the  events  recorded  in  this  liistory 
occurred ;  and  as  at  that  period  not  one  out  of  a  thousand 
lodging-houses  in  Margate  are  let,  Mrs.  Gann,  who  generally 
submitted  to  occupy  her  own  first  and  second  floors  during  this 
cheerless  season,  considered  herself  more  than  ordinarily  lucky  when 
circumstances  occurred  which  brought  no  less  than  two  lodgers  to 
her  establishment. 

She  had  to  thank  her  daughters  for  the  first  inmate ;  for,  as 
these  two  young  ladies  were  walking  one  day  down  their  own  street, 
talking  of  the  joys  of  the  last  season,  and  the  delight  of  the  rafiles 
and  singing  at  the  libraries,  and  the  intoxicating  pleasures  of  the 
Vauxhall  balls,  they  were  remarked  and  evidently  admired  by  a 
young  gentleman  who  was  sauntering  listlessly  up  the  street. 

He  stared,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that  the  fescinating  girls 
stared  too,  and  put  each  other's  head  into  each  other's  bonnet,  and 
giggled  and  said,  "  Lor'  ! "  and  then  looked  liard  at  the  young 
gentleman  again.  Their  eyes  were  black,  their  cheeks  were  very 
red.  Fancy  how  Miss  Bella's  and  Miss  Linda's  hearts  beat  when 
the  gentleman,  dropping  his  glass  out  of  his  eye,  actually  stepped 
across  the  street,  and  said,  "  Ladies,  I  am  seeking  for  lodgings, 
and  should  be  glad  to  look  at  those  which  I  see  are  to  let  in  your 
house." 

"  How  did  the  conjurer  know  it  was  our  house  1 "  thought  Bella 
and  Linda  (they  always  thought  in  couples).  From  the  very  simple 
fact  that  Miss  Bella  had  just  tlirust  into  the  door  a  latch-key. 

Most  bitterly  did  Mrs.  James  Gaiui  regret  that  she  had  not  on 
her  best  gown  when  a  stranger — a  stranger  in  February — actually 
called  to  look  at  the  lodgings.  She  made  up,  however,  for  the 
slovenliness  of  her  dress  by  the  dignity  of  her  demeanour  ;  and 
asked  the  gentleman  for  references,  informed  him  that  she  was  a 
gentlewoman,  and  that  he  would  have  peculiar  advantages  in  her 
establishment ;  and,  finally,  agreed  to  receive  him  at  the  rate  of 
twenty  shillings  per  week.  The  bright  eyes  of  the  young  ladies 
had  done  the  business ;  but  to  this  day  Mrs.  James  Gann  is  con- 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  15 

vinced  that  her  peculiar  dignity  of  manner,  and  great  fluency 
of  hrag  regarding  her  family,  have  been  the  means  of  bringing 
hundreds  of  lodgers  to  her  house,  who  but  for  her  would  never  have 
visited  it. 

"  Gents,"  said  Mr.  James  Gann,  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails "  that 
very  evening,  "  we  have  got  a  new  lodger,  and  I'll  stand  glasses 
round  to  his  jolly  good  health  !  " 

The  new  lodger,  who  was  remarkable  for  nothing  except  very 
black  eyes,  a  sallow  face,  and  a  habit  of  smoking  cigars  in  bed  until 
noon,  gave  his  name  George  Brandon,  Esq.  As  to  his  temper  and 
habits,  when  humbly  requested  by  Mrs.  Gann  to  pay  in  advance,  he 
laughed  and  presented  her  with  a  bank-note,  never  quarrelled  with 
a  single  item  in  her  bills,  walked  much,  and  ate  two  mutton-chops 
per  diem.  The  young  ladies,  who  examined  all  the  boxes  and 
letters  of  the  lodgers,  as  young  ladies  will,  could  not  find  one  single 
document  relative  to  their  new  inmate,  except  a  tavern-bill  of  the 
"  White  Hart,"  to  which  the  name  of  George  Brandon,  Esquire, 
was  prefixed.  Any  other  papers  which  might  elucidate  his  history 
were  locked  up  in  a  Bramah  box,  likewise  marked  G.  B. ;  and 
though  these  were  but  unsatisfactory  points  by  which  to  judge  a 
man's  character,  there  was  a  something  about  Mr.  Brandon  which 
caused  all  the  ladies  at  Mrs.  Gann's  to  vote  he  was  quite  a 
gentleman. 

When  this  was  the  case,  I  am  happy  to  say  it  would  not 
unfre(]uently  happen  that  Miss  Rosalind  or  Miss  Isabella  would 
appear  in  the  lodger's  apartments,  bearing  in  the  breakfast-cloth, 
or  blushingly  appearing  with  the  weekly  bill,  apologising  for 
mamma's .  absence,  "and  hoping  that  everything  was  to  the 
gentleman's  liking." 

Both  the  Misses  Wellesley  Macarty  took  occasion  to  visit  Mr. 
Brandon  in  this  manner,  and  he  received  both  with  such  a 
fascinating  ease  and  gentleman-like  freedom  of  manner,  scanning 
their  points  from  head  to  foot,  and  fixing  his  great  black  eyes 
so  earnestly  on  their  faces,  that  the  blusliing  creatures  turned 
away  abashed,  and  yet  pleased,  and  had  many  conversations  about 
him. 

"Law,  Bell,"  said  Miss  Rosalind,  "what  a  chap  that  Brandon 
is !  I  don't  half  like  him,  I  do  declare  !  "  Than  which  there  can 
be  no  greater  compliment  from  a  woman  to  a  man. 

"  No  more  do  I  neitlier,"  says  Boll.  "  Tlie  man  stares  so, 
and  says  such  things  !  Just  now,  when  Becky  brought  his  paper 
and  sealing-wax — the  silly  girl  brought  black  and  red  too — I 
took  them  up  to  ask  which  he  would  have,  and  what  do  you 
think  he  said  1 " 


16  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

"  Well,  dear,  what  ? "  said  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  '  Miss  Bell,'  says  he,  looking  at  me,  and  with  such  eyes ! 
'  I'll  keep  everything :  the  red  wax,  because  it's  like  your  lips ; 
the  black  wax,  because  it's  like  your  hair ;  and  the  satin  paper, 
because  it's  like  your  skin  ! '     Wasn't  it  genteel  1 " 

"  Law,  now  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Gann. 

"  Upon  ray  word,  I  think  it's  very  rude  ! "  said  Miss  Lindy ; 
"  and  if  he'd  said  so  to  me,  I'd  have  slapped  his  face  for  his 
imperence  ! "  And  much  to  her  credit.  Miss  Lindy  went  to  his 
room  ten  minutes  after  to  see  if  he  ivould  say  anything  to  her. 
What  Mr.  Bi'andon  said,  I  never  knew ;  but  the  little  pang  of 
envy  which  had  caused  Miss  Lindy  to  retort  sharply  upon  her 
sister,  had  given  place  to  a  pleased  good-humour,  and  she  allowed 
Bella  to  talk  about  the  new  lodger  as  much  as  ever  she  liked. 

And  now  if  the  reader  is  anxious  to  know  what  was  Mr. 
Brandon's  character,  he  had  better  read  the  following  letter  from 
him.  It  was  addressed  to  no  less  a  person  than  a  viscount :  and 
given,  perhaps,  with  some  little  ostentation  to  Becky,  the  maid, 
to  carry  to  the  post.  Now  Becky,  before  she  executed  such 
errands,  always  showed  the  letters  to  her  mistress  or  one  of  the 
young  ladies  (it  must  not  be  supposed  that  Miss  Caroline  was  a 
whit  less  curious  on  these  matters  than  her  sisters) ;  and  when 
the  family  beheld  the  name  of  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars  upon  the 
superscription,  their  respect  for  their  lodger  was  greater  than  ever 
it  had  been. 

"Margate:  February  1%'^. 

"  My  dear  Viscount, — For  a  reason  I  have,  on  coming  down 
to  Margate,  I  with  much  gravity  informed  the  people  of  the  '  White 
Hart '  that  my  name  was  Brandon,  and  intend  to  bear  that  honour 
able  appellation  during  my  stay.  For  the  same  reason  (I  am  a 
modest  man,  and  love  to  do  good  in  secret),  I  left  the  pulilic  hotel 
immediately,  and  am  now  housed  in  private  lodgings,  humble, 
and  at  a  humble  price.  I  am  here,  thank  Heaven,  quite  alone. 
Robinson  Crusoe  had  as  much  society  in  his  island,  as  I  in  this 
of  Thanet.  In  compensation  I  sleep  a  great  deal,  do  nothing,  and 
walk  raucli,  silent,  by  the  side  of  the  roaring  sea,  like  Calchas, 
priest  of  Apollo. 

"  The  tact  is,  that  until  papa's  wrath  is  appeased,  I  must  live 
with  the  utmost  meekness  and  humility,  and  have  barely  enough 
money  in  my  possession  to  pay  such  small  current  expenses  as  fall 
on  me  here,  where  strangers  are  many  and  credit  does  not  exist. 
I  pray  you,  therefore,  to  tell  Mr.  Snipson  the  tailor,  Mr.  Jackson 
the  bootmaker,  honest  Solomonson  the  discounter  of  bills,  and  all 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  17 

such  friends  in  London  and  Oxford  as  may  make  inquiries  after  me, 
that  I  am  at  this  very  moment  at  tlie  city  of  Munich  in  Bavaria, 
from  Avhich  I  shall  not  return  until  my  marriage  with  Miss  Gold- 
more,  the  great  Indian  heiress  ;  who,  upon  my  honour,  will  have 
me,  I  believe,  any  day  for  the  asking. 

"  Nothing  else  will  satisfy  my  honoured  father,  I  know,  whose 
l)urse  has  already  bled  pretty  freely  for  me,  I  must  confess,  and 
who  has  taken  the  great  oath  that  never  is  broken,  to  bleed  no 
more  unless  tins  marriage  is  brought  about.  Come  it  must.  I 
can't  work,  I  can't  starve,  and  I  can't  live  under  a  thousand  a  year. 

"  Here,  to  be  sure,  the  charges  are  not  enormous ;  for  your 
edification,  read  my  week's  bill : — 


George  Brandon,  Esquire, 


To  Mrs.  James  Gann. 
£     s.     d. 


1 

0 

0 

0 

9 

0 

0 

10 

6 

0 

3 

6 

£2 

3 

0 

A  week's  lodging    . 
Breakfast,  cream,  eggs    . 
Dinner  (fourteen  mutton-chojts) 
Fire,  boot-cleaning,  &c.  . 


"  '  Settled,  Juliana  Gann.' 

"  Juliana  Gann  !  Is  it  not  a  sweet  name  ?  it  sprawls  over  half 
the  paper.  Could  you  but  see  the  owner  of  the  name,  my  dear 
fellow  !  I  love  to  examine  the  customs  of  natives  of  all  countries, 
and  upon  my  word  there  are  some  barbarians  in  our  own  less 
known,  and  more  worthy  of  being  known,  than  Hottentots,  wild 
Irish,  Otaheiteans,  or  any  such  savages.  If  you  could  see  the  airs 
that  this  woman  gives  herself;  the  rouge,  ribands,  rings,  and  other 
female  gimcracks  that  she  wears ;  if  you  could  hear  her  reminis- 
cences of  past  times,  '  when  she  and  Mr.  Gann  moved  in  the  very 
genteelest  circles  of  society ; '  of  the  peerage,  which  she  knows  by 
heart ;  and  of  the  fashionable  novels,  in  every  word  of  which  she 
believes,  you  would  be  proud  of  your  order,  and  admire  the  intense 
respect  which  tlie  canaille  show  towards  it.  There  never  was  such 
an  old  woman,  not  even  our  tutor  at  Christchurch. 

"There  is  a  he  Gann,  a  vast  bloated  old  man,  in  a  rough  coat, 
who  has  met  me  once,  and  asked  me,  with  a  grin,  if  my  mutton- 
chops  was  to  my  liking?  The  satirical  monster  !  What  ran  I  eat 
in  this  place  but  nuitton-cliops  ?     A  great  bleeding  beef-steak,  or  a 


18  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

filthy  reeking  gigot  a  Veau,  with  a  turnip  poultice  ?  I  should  die 
if  I  did.  As  for  fish  in  a  watering-place,  I  never  touch  it ;  it  is  sure 
to  be  bad.  Nor  care  I  for  little  sinewy,  dry,  black-legged  fowls. 
Cutlets  are  my  only  resource ;  I  have  them  nicely  enough  broiled 
by  a  little  humble  companion  of  the  family  (a  companion,  ye  gods, 
in  this  family !),  who  blushed  hugely  when  she  confessed  that  the 
cooking  Avas  hers,  and  that  her  name  was  Caroline.  For  drink  I 
indulge  in  gin,  of  which  I  consume  two  wine-glasses  daily,  in  two 
tumblers  of  cold  water ;  it  is  the  only  liquor  that  one  can  be  sure 
to  find  genuine  in  a  common  house  in  England. 

"  This  Gann,  I  take  it,  has  similar  likings,  for  I  hear  him  occa- 
sionally at  midnight  floundering  up  the  stairs  (his  boots  lie  dirty 
in  the  passage) — floundering,  I  say,  up  the  stairs,  and  cursing  the 
candlestick,  whence  escape  now  and  anon  the  snuffers  and  extin- 
guisher, and  with  brazen  rattle  disturb  the  silence  of  the  night. 
Thrice  a  week,  at  least,  does  Gann  breakfast  in  bed — sure  sign  of 
pridian  intoxication ;  and  thrice  a  week,  in  the  morning,  I  hear  a 
lioarse  voice  roaring  for  'my  soda-water.'  How  long  have  the 
rogues  drunk  soda-water  1 

"  At  nine,  Mrs.  Gann  and  daughters  are  accustomed  to  break- 
fast ;  a  handsome  pair  of  girls,  truly,  and  much  followed,  as  I  hear, 
in  the  quarter.  These  dear  creatures  are  always  paying  me  visits — 
visits  with  the  tea-kettle,  visits  with  the  newspaper  (one  brings  it, 
and  one  comes  for  it) ;  but  the  one  is  always  at  the  other's  heels, 
and  so  one  cannot  show  oneself  to  be  that  dear,  gay,  seducing  fellow 
that  one  has  been,  at  home  and  on  the  Continent.  Do  you  re- 
member cette  chere  marquise  at  Pau  1  That  cursed  conjugal  pistol- 
bullet  still  plays  the  deuce  with  my  shoulder.  Do  you  remember 
Betty  Buudy,  the  butcher's  daughter  1  A  pretty  race  of  fools  are 
we  to  go  mad  after  such  women,  and  risk  all — oaths,  prayers, 
promises,  long  wearisome  courtships — for  what  1 — for  vanity,  truly. 
When  the  battle  is  over,  behold  your  conquest !  Betty  Bundy  is  a 
vulgar  country  wench ;  and  cette  belle  marquise  is  old,  rouged,  and 
has  false  hair.  Vanitas  vanitatum  I  what  a  moral  man  I  will  be 
some  day  or  other  ! 

"  I  have  found  an  old  acquaintance  (and  be  hanged  to  him  !), 
who  has  come  to  lodge  in  this  very  house.  Do  you  recollect  at 
Rome  a  young  artist,  Fitch  by  name,  the  handsome  gaby  with  the 
large  beard,  that  mad  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  was  doubly  mad  about? 
On  the  second  floor  of  Mrs.  Gann's  house  dwells  this  youth.  His 
beard  brings  the  gamins  of  the  streets  trooping  and  yelling  about 
him  ;  his  fine  braided  coats  have  grown  somewhat  shabby  now ; 
and  the  poor  fellow  is,  like  your  humble  servant  (by  the  way,  have 
you  a  500  franc  billet  to  spare  1) — like  your  humble  servant,  I  say, 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY        19 

very  low  in  pocket.  The  young  Andrea  bears  up  gaily,  however  ; 
twangles  his  guitar,  paints  the  worst  pictures  in  the  world,  and 
pens  sonnets  to  his  imaginary  mistress's  eyebrow.  Lut-kily  the 
rogue  did  not  know  my  name,  or  I  should  have  been  compelled  to 
unbosom  to  him  ;  and  when  I  called  out  to  him,  dubious  as  to 
my  name,  'Don't  you  know  me?  I  met  you  in  Rome.  My  name 
is  Brandon,'  the  painter  was  perfectly  satisfied,  and  majestically 
bade  me  welcome. 

"  Fancy  the  continence  of  this  young  Joseph— he  has  absolutely 
run  away  from  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  !  '  Sir,'  said  he,  with  some  hesita- 
tion and  blushes,  when  I  questioned  him  about  the  widow,  '  I  was 
compelled  to  leave  Rome  in  consequence  of  the  fatal  fondness  of 
that  woman.  I  am  an  'andsome  man,  sir, — I  know  it — all  the 
chaps  in  the  Academy  want  me  for  a  model ;  and  that  woman,  sir, 
is  sixty.  Do  you  think  I  would  ally  myself  with  her  ;  sacrifice  my 
hapi)iness  for  the  sake  of  a  creature  that's  as  hugly  as  an  'arpy  1 
I'd  rather  starve,  sir.  I'd  rather  give  up  my  hart  and  my  'opes  of 
rising  in  it  than  do  a  haction  so  disMAAonourable.' 

"  There  is  a  stock  of  virtue  for  you  !  and  the  poor  fellow  half- 
starved.  He  lived  at  Rome  upon  the  seven  portraits  that  the 
Carrickfergus  ordensd  of  him,  and,  as  I  fancy,  now  does  not  make 
twenty  poimds  in  the  year.  0  rare  chastity  !  O  wondrous  silly 
hopes  !  0  viotus  animorum,  atque  0  certcmiina  tanta  !■ — ]>vlveris. 
exigui  jactai,  in  such  an  insignificant  little  lump  of  mud  as  this  ! 
Wiiy  the  deuce  does  not  the  fool  marry  the  widow  ?  His  betters 
would.  There  was  a  captain  of  dragoons,  an  Italian  prince,  and  four 
sons  of  Irish  peers,  all  at  her  feet ;  but  the  Cockney's  beard  and 
whiskers  have  overcome  them  all.  Here  my  paper  has  come  to 
an  end  ;  and  I  have  the  honour  to  bid  your  Lordship  a  respectful 
farewell.  Gr.  B." 

Of  the  young  gentleman  who  goes  by  the  name  of  Brandon,  the 
reader  of  tlie  above  letter  will  not  be  so  misg\uded,  Ave  trust,  as  to 
have  a  very  exalted  oi)inion.  The  noble  vis(;ount  read  this  document 
to  a  supper-party  in  ( niristchurch,  in  Oxford,  and  left  it  in  a  bowl 
of  milk-punch  ;  whence  a  scout  abstracted  it,  and  handed  it  over  to 
us.  My  Lord  was  twenty  years  of  age  when  he  received  the  epistle, 
and  had  spent  a  couple  of  years  abroad,  before  going  to  the 
university,  under  the  guardianship  of  the  worthy  individual  who 
called  himself  George  Brandon. 

Mr.  Brandon  was  the  son  of  a  half-pay  colonel  of  good  family, 
who,  honouring  the  great  himself,  thoiight  his  son  would  vastly 
benefit  by  an  ac(|naintance  with  them,  and  sent  him  to  Eton,  at  cruel 
charges  upon  a  slender  purse.     From  Eton  the  lad  went  to  Oxfoid, 


20  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

took  honours  there,  frequented  the  best  society,  followed  with  a 
kind  of  proud  obsequiousness  all  the  tufts  of  the  university,  and 
left  it  owing  exactly  two  thousand  pounds.  Then  there  came 
storms  at  home;  fury  on  the  part  of  the  stern  old  "governor"; 
and  final  payment  of  the  debt.  But  while  this  settlement  was 
pending.  Master  George  had  contracted  many  more  debts  among 
bill-discounters,  and  was  glad  to  fly  to  the  Continent  as  tutor 
to  young  Lord  Cinqbars,  in  whose  company  he  learned  every 
one  of  the  vices  in  Europe  ;  and  having  a  good  natural  genius, 
and  a  heart  not  unkindly,  had  used  these  qualities  in  such  an 
admirable  manner  as  to  be  at  twenty-seven  utterly  ruined  in  purse 
and  principle — an  idler,  a  spendthrift,  and  a  glutton.  He  was 
free  of  his  money ;  would  spend  his  last  guinea  for  a  sensual 
gratification ;  would  borrow  from  his  neediest  friend ;  had  no  kind 
of  conscience  or  remorse  left,  but  believed  himself  to  be  a  good- 
natured  devil-may-care  fellow ;  had  a  good  deal  of  wit,  and  indis- 
putably good  manners,  and  a  pleasing,  dashing  frankness  in 
conversation  with  men.  I  should  like  to  know  how  many  such 
scoundrels  our  universities  have  turned  out ;  and  how  much  ruin 
has  been  caused  by  that  accursed  system  which  is  called  in  England 
"  the  education  of  a  gentleman."  Go,  my  son,  for  ten  years  to  a 
public  school,  that  "  world  in  miniature ; "  learn  "  to  fight  for 
yourself"  against  the  time  when  your  real  struggles  shall  begin. 
Begin  to  be  selfish  at  ten  years  of  age ;  study  for  other  ten  years ; 
get  a  competent  knowledge  of  boxing,  swimming,  rowing,  and 
cricket,  with  a  pretty  knack  of  Latin  hexameters  and  a  decent 
smattering  of  Greek  plays, — do  this  and  a  fond  father  shall  bless 
you — bless  the  two  thousand  pounds  which  he  has  spent  in 
acquiring  all  these  benefits  for  you.  And,  besides,  what  else  have 
you  not  learned  1  You  have  been  many  hundreds  of  times  to 
chapel,  and  have  learned  to  consider  the  religious  service  performed 
there  as  the  vainest  parade  in  the  world.  If  your  father  is  a 
grocer,  you  have  been  beaten  for  his  sake,  and  have  learned  to  be 
ashamed  of  liim.  You  have  learned  to  forget  (as  how  should  you 
remember,  being  separated  from  them  for  three-fourths  of  yoiu' 
time?)  the  ties  and  natural  atiectious  of  home.  You  have  learned, 
if  you  have  a  kindly  heart  and  an  open  hand,  to  compete  with 
associates  much  more  wealthy  than  yourself;  and  to  consider  money 
as  not  much,  but  honour — the  honour  of  dining  and  consorting  with 
your  betters — as  a  great  deal.  All  this  does  the  public-school  and 
college  boy  learn ;  and  woe  be  to  his  knowledge  !  Alas,  what 
natural  tenderness  and  kindly  clinging  filial  aff'ection  is  he  taught  to 
trample  on  and  despise  !  My  friend  Brandon  had  gone  through  this 
process  of  education,  and  had  been  irretrievably  ruined  by  it — his 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  21 

heart  and  liis  honesty  had  been  ruined  by  it,  that  is  to  say ;  and  he 
had  received,  in  return  for  thera,  a  small  quantity  of  classics  and 
mathematics — pretty  compensation  for  all  he  had  lost  in  gaining 
them  ! 

But  I  am  wandering  most  absurdly  from  the  point ;  right 
or  wrong,  so  nature  and  education  had  firmed  Mr.  Brandon,  who 
is  one  of  a  considerable  class.  Well,  this  young  gentleman  was 
established  at  Mrs.  Gann's  house;  and  Ave  are  obliged  to  enter 
into  all  these  explanations  conc^erning  him,  because  they  are 
necessary  to  the  right  understanding  of  our  story — Brandon  not 
being  altogether  a  bad  man,  nor  much  worse  than  many  a  one 
who  goes  through  a  course  of  regular  selfish  swindling  all  his  life 
long,  and  dies  religious,  resigned,  proud  of  himself,  and  universally 
respected  by  others ;  for  this  eminent  advantage  has  the  getting- 
and-keeping  scoundrel  over  the  extravagant  and  careless  one. 

One  day,  then,  as  he  was  gazing  from  the  window  of  his  lodging- 
house,  a  cart,  containing  a  vast  number  of  easels,  portfolios,  wooden 
cases  of  pictures,  and  a  small  car]»et-l)ag  that  might  hold  a  change 
of  clothes,  stoi)ped  at  the  door.  The  vehicle  was  accompanied  by  a 
remarkable  young  fellow — dressed  in  a  frock-coat  covered  over  with 
frogs,  a  dirty  turned-down  shirt-collar,  with  a  l)lue  satin  cravat,  and 
a  cap  placed  wonderfully  on  one  ear — who  had  evidently  hired  apart- 
ments at  Mr.  Gann's.  Tliis  new  lodger  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Andrew 
Fitch ;  or,  as  he  wrote  on  his  cards,  without  the  prefix, 


Andrea  Fitcii. 


Preparations  had  been  made  at  Gann's  for  the  reception  of 
Mr.  Fitch,  whose  aunt  (an  auctioneer's  lady  in  the  town)  had  made 
arrangements  tliat  he  should  board  and  lodge  with  tlie  Gaiui  family, 
and  have  tlie  apartments  on  the  second  floor  as  his  private  ntoms. 
In  these,  then,  young  Andrea  was  installed.  He  was  a  youth  of 
a  poetic  temperament,  loving  solitude ;  and  where  is  such  to  be 
found  more  easily  than  on  the  storm-waslied  shores  of  Margate  in 
winter  I  Then  the  boarding-house  keepers  have  shut  up  their 
liouses  and  gone  away  in  anguish ;  then  the  taverns  take  their 
carpets  uj),  and  you  can  have  your  choice  of  a  hundred  and  twenty 
beds  in  any  one  of  them ;  then  but  one  dismal  waiter  remains  to 
superintend  this  vast  echoing  pile  of  loneliness,  and  tlie  landlord 
pines   for  summer ;    tlieu   the  Hies  for  llamsgate  stand  tcnautless 


22  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

beside  the  pier ;  and  about  four  sailors,  in  pea-jackets,  are  to  be 
seen  in  the  three  principal  streets ;  in  the  rest,  silence,  closed 
shutters,  torpid  chimneys  enjoying  their  unnatural  winter  sinecure 
— not  the  clack  of  a  patten  echoing  over  the  cold  dry  flags  ! 

This  solitude  had  been  chosen  by  Mr.  Brandon  for  good  reasons 
of  his  own ;  Gann  and  his  family  would  have  fled,  but  tliat  they 
had  no  other  house  wherein  to  take  refuge ;  and  Mrs.  Hannnerton, 
the  auctioneer's  lady,  felt  so  keenly  the  kindness  which  she  was 
doing  to  Mrs.  Gann,  in  providing  her  with  a  lodger  at  such  a 
period,  that  she  considered  herself  fully  justified  in  extracting  from 
the  latter  a  bonus  of  two  guineas,  threatening  on  refusal  to  send 
her  darling  nephew  to  a  rival  establishment  over  the  way. 

Andrea  was  here  then,  in  the  loneliness  that  he  loved, — a 
fantastic  youth,  who  lived  but  for  his  art ;  to  whom  the  world 
was  like  the  Coburg  Theatre,  and  he  in  a  magnificent  costume 
acting  a  principal  part.  His  art,  and  his  beard  and  whiskers,  were 
the  darlings  of  his  heart.  His  long  pale  hair  fell  over  a  high 
polished  brow,  which  looked  wonderfully  thoughtful ;  and  yet  no 
man  was  more  guiltless  of  thinking.  He  was  always  putting  him- 
self into  attitudes ;  he  never  spoke  the  truth ;  and  was  so  entirely 
aftecteil  and  absurd,  as  to  be  quite  honest  at  last :  for  it  is  my 
belief  that  the  man  did  not  know  truth  from  falsehood  any  longer, 
and  was  when  he  was  alone,  when  he  was  in  company,  nay,  when 
he  was  unconscious  and  sound  asleep  snoring  in  bed,  one  complete 
lump  of  affectation.  When  his  apartments  on  the  second  floor 
were  arranged  according  to  his  fancy,  they  made  a  tremendous 
show.  He  had  a  large  Gothic  chest,  in  which  he  put  his  wardrobe 
(namely,  two  velvet  waistcoats,  four  varied  satin  under  ditto,  two 
pairs  braided  trousers,  two  shirts,  half-a-dozen  false  collars,  and  a 
couple  of  pairs  of  dreadfully  dilapidated  Blucher  boots).  He  had 
some  pieces  of  armour ;  some  China  jugs  and  Venetian  glasses ; 
some  bits  of  old  damask  rags,  to  drape  his  doors  and  windows  : 
and  a  rickety  lay  figure,  in  a  Spanish  hat  and  cloak,  over  which 
slung  a  long  Toledo  rapier,  and  a  guitar,  with  a  riband  of  dirty 
sky-blue. 

Such  was  our  poor  fellow's  stock  in  trade.  He  had  some 
volumes  of  poems — "  Lalla  Rookh,"and  the  sterner  compositions  of 
Byron  ;  for,  to  do  him  justice,  he  hated  "  Don  Juan,"  and  a  woman 
was  in  his  eyes  an  angel ;  a  Mangel,  alas  !  he  would  call  her,  for 
nature  and  the  circumstances  of  his  fiimily  had  taken  sad  Cockney 
advantages  over  Andrea's  pronunciation. 

The  Misses  Wellesley  Macarty  were  not,  however,  very 
squeamish  with  regard  to  grammar,  and,  in  this  dull  season,  voted 
Mr.    Fitch    an    elegant    young   fellow.     His    immense    beard   and 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       23 

whiskers  gave  them  the  highest  opinion  of  his  genius ;  and  before 
long  the  intimacy  between  the  young  peoi^le  was  considerable,  for 
Mr.  Fitch  insisted  upon  drawing  the  portraits  of  the  wliole  family. 
He  painted  Mrs.  Gann  in  her  rouge  and  ribands,  as  described  by 
Mr.  Brandon ;  Mr.  Gann,  who  said  that  his  picture  wovdd  be  very 
useful  to  the  artist,  as  every  soul  in  Margate  knew  him  ;  and  the 
Misses  Macarty  (a  neat  group,  representing  Miss  Bella  embracing 
Miss  Linda,  who  was  pointing  to  a  pianoforte). 

"  I  sui)pose  you'll  do  my  Carry  next  ? "  said  Mr.  Gann, 
expressing  his  approbation  of  the  last  picture. 

"  Law,  sir,"  said  Miss  Linda,  "  Carry  with  her  red  hair ! — it 
would  be  qjus." 

"Mr.  Fitch  might  as  well  paint  Becky,  our  maid,"  said  MisB 
Bella. 

"  Carry  is  quite  impossible,  Gann,"  said  Mrs.  Gann ;  "  she 
hasn't  a  gown  lit  to  be  seen  in.  Slie's  not  been  at  church  for 
thirteen  Sundays  in  consequence." 

"  And  more  shame  for  you,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Gann,  who  liked 
his  child ;  "  Carry  shall  have  a  gown,  and  tlie  best  of  gowns." 
And  jingling  three-and-twenty  shillings  in  his  pocket,  Mr.  Gann 
determined  to  spend  them  all  in  the  purchase  of  a  robe  for  Carry. 
But  alas  !  the  gown  never  came ;  half  the  money  was  spent  that 
very  evening  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

"Ls  that — that  young  lady  your  daughter?"  said  Mr.  Fitch, 
surprised,  for  he  fancied  Carry  was  a  humble  companion  of  the 
family. 

"  Yes,  she  is,  and  a  very  good  daughter  too,  sir,"  answered  Mr. 
Gann.  "  Fetch  and  Carry  I  call  her,  or  else  Carryvan — she's  so 
useful.     Ain't  you.  Carry  ? " 

"  I'm  very  glad  if  I  am,  papa,"  said  the  young  lady,  who  was 
blushing  violently,  and  in  whose  i)rcseuce  all  this  conversation  had 
been  carried  on. 

"Hold  your  tongue,  miss,"  said  her  mother;  "you  are  very 
expensive  to  us,  that  you  are,  and  need  not  brag  about  the  work 
you  do.  You  would  not  live  on  charity,  would  you,  like  some 
folks  1 "  (here  she  looked  fiercely  at  Mr.  Gann)  ;  "  and  if  your 
Bisters  and  me  starve  to  keep  you  and  some  folks,  I  presume  you 
are  bound  to  make  us  some  return." 

When  any  allusion  was  made  to  Mr.  Gann's  idleness  and 
extravagance,  or  his  lady  showed  herself  in  any  way  inclined  to 
be  angry,  it  was  holiest  James's  habit  not  to  answer,  but  to  take 
his  hat  and  walk  aliroad  to  the  jniblic-house ;  or  if  haply  slie 
Bcolded  him  at  niglit,  he  would  turn  his  back  and  fall  a-snoring. 
These   were   tlie  onlv    remedies   he    found    for    ]\Ir.s.   James's    bad 


24  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

temper,  and  the  first  of  theiii  he  adopted  on  hearing  these  words 
of  his  lady,  which  we  have  just  now  transcribed. 

Poor  CaroUne  had  not  her  father's  refuge  of  flight,  but  was 
obliged  to  stay  and  listen ;  and  a  wondrous  eloquence,  God  wot ! 
had  Mrs.  Gann  upon  the  sul)ject  of  her  daughter's  ill-conduct. 
The  first  lecture  Mr.  Fitch  heard,  he  set  down  Caroline  for  a 
monster.  Was  she  not  idle,  sulky,  scornful,  and  a  sloven  1  For 
these  and  many  more  of  her  daughter's  vices  Mrs.  Gann  vouched, 
declaring  that  Caroline's  misbehaviour  was  hastening  her  own 
death,  and  finishing  by  a  fainting-fit.  In  the  presence  of  all  these 
charges,  there  stood  Miss  Caroline,  dumb,  stupid,  and  careless  ;  nay, 
when  the  fainting-fit  came  on,  and  Mrs.  Gann  fell  back  on  the 
sofa,  the  unfeeling  girl  took  the  opportunity  to  retire,  and  never 
offered  to  smack  her  mamma's  hands,  to  give  her  the  smelling- 
bottle,  or  to  restore  her  with  a  glass  of  water. 

One  stood  close  at  hand;  for  Mr.  Fitch,  when  this  first  fit 
occurred,  was  sitting  in  the  Gann  parlour,  painting  that  lady's 
portrait ;  and  he  was  making  towards  her  with  his  tumbler,  when 
Miss  Linda  cried  out,  "Stop,  the  water's  full  of  paint;"  and 
straightway  burst  out  laughing.  Mrs.  Gann  jumped  up  at  this, 
cured  suddenly,  and  left  the  room,  looking  somewhat  foolish. 

"You  don't  know  ma,"  said  Miss  Linda,  still  giggling;  "she's 
always  fainting." 

"  Poor  thing  !  "  cried  Fitch  ;  "  very  nervous,  I  suppose  1 " 

"  Oh,  very ! "  answered  the  lady,  exchanging  arch  glances  with 
Miss  Bella. 

"  Poor  dear  lady  !  "  continued  the  artist ;  "  I  pity  her  from  my 
hinmost  soul.  Doesn't  the  himmortal  bard  of  Havon  observe,  how 
sharper  than  a  serpent's  tooth  it  is  to  have  a  thankless  child  1  And 
is  it  true,  ma'am,  that  that  young  woman  has  been  the  ruin  of 
her  family  1 " 

"Ruin  of  her  fiddlestick!"  replied  Miss  Bella.  "Law,  Mr. 
Fitch,  you  don't  know  ma  yet ;  she  is  in  one  of  her  tantrums." 

"What,  then,  it  isn't  true?"  cried  simple-minded  Fitch.  To 
which  neither  of  the  young  ladies  made  any  answer  in  words,  nor 
could  the  little  artist  comprehend  why  they  looked  at  each  other, 
and  burst  out  laughing.  But  he  retired  pondering  on  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard  ;  and  being  a  very  soft  young  fellow,  most  implicitly 
believed  the  accusations  of  poor  dear  Mrs.  Gann,  and  thought  her 
daughter  Caroline  was  no  better  than  a  Regan  or  Goneril. 

A  time,  however,  was  to  come  when  he  should  believe  her  to 
be  a  most  pure  and  gentle  Cordelia ;  and  of  this  change  in  Fitch's 
opinions  we  shall  speak  in  Chapter  IIL 


CHAPTER  III 

A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  DINNER,   AND   OTHER  INCIDENTS 
OF  A  LIKE  NATURE 

MR.  BRANDON'S  letter  to  Lord  Cinqbars  produced,  as  we 
have  said,  a  great  impression  upon  the  family  of  Gann  ; 
an  impression  which  was  considerably  increased  by  their 
lodger's  subse(pient  behaviour :  for  although  the  persons  with 
whom  he  now  associated  were  of  a  very  vidgar  ridiculous  kind, 
they  were  by  no  means  so  low  or  ridiculous  that  Mr.  Brandon 
should  not  wish  to  ;i])pear  before  them  in  the  most  advantageous 
light ;  and,  accordingly,  he  gave  himself  the  greatest  airs  when  in 
their  comi)any,  and  bragged  incessantly  of  his  acquaintance  and 
familiarity  with  the  nobility.  Mr.  Brandon  was  a  tuft-hunter  of 
the  genteel  sort ;  his  pride  being  quite  as  slavish,  and  his  haugh- 
tiness as  mean  and  cringing,  in  fact,  as  poor  Mrs.  Gann's  stupid 
wonder  and  respect  for  all  the  persons  whose  names  are  written 
with  titles  before  them.  0  free  and  happy  Britons,  what  a 
miseral)le,  truckling,  cringing  race  ye  are  ! 

The  reader  has  no  doubt  encountered  a  number  of  such 
swaggerers  in  the  course  of  his  conversatioji  with  the  world — men 
of  a  decent  middle  rank,  who  affect  to  despise  it,  and  herd  oidy 
with  j)ersons  of  the  fashion.  This  is  an  offence  in  a  man  which 
none  of  us  can  forgive:  we  call  him  tuft-hunter,  lickspittle,  sneak, 
unmanly  :  we  hate,  and  profess  to  despise  him.  I  fear  it  is  no  such 
tidng.  We  envy  Lickspittle,  that  is  tlie  fact ;  and  therefore  hate 
him.  AVere  he  to  plague  us  with  the  stories  of  Jones  and  Brown, 
our  familiars,  the  man  would  be  a  simple  bore,  his  stories  heard 
patiently  ;  but  so  soon  as  he  talks  of  my  Lord  or  the  Duke,  we  are 
in  arms  against  him.  I  have  seen  a  whole  merry  party  in  Russell 
Sfpiare  grow  suddenly  gloomy  and  dumb,  because  a  pert  barrister, 
in  a  loud  shrill  voice,  told  a  story  of  Lord  This,  or  the  Marquis  of 
That.  We  all  hated  that  man  :  and  I  would  lay  a  wager  that  every 
one  of  the  fourteen  persons  asscnd)led  round  tlie  IioHimI  turkey  and 
saddle  of  nnitton  (not  to  mention  sidcvdishes  from  the  pastrycook's 
opposite  th(>  British  ]\Iuseum)— I  would  wager,  I  say,  tliat  every- 
one was  muttering  inwardly,  "  A    jilaguc  on  that  fellow  !   he  knows 


26       A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY 

a  lord,  and  I  never  spoke  to  more  than  three  in  the  whole  course 
of  my  life."  To  our  betters  we  can  reconcile  ourselves,  if  you 
please,  respecting  them  very  sincerely,  laughing  at  their  jokes, 
making  allowance  for  their  stupidities,  meekly  suffering  their 
insolence ;  but  we  can't  pardon  our  equals  going  beyond  us.  A 
friend  of  mine  who  lived  amicably  and  happily  among  his  friends 
and  relatives  at  Hackney,  was  on  a  sudden  disowned  by  the 
latter,  cut  by  the  former,  and  doomed  in  innumerable  jirophecies 
to  ruin,  because  he  kept  a  footboy, — a  harmless  little  blowsy-faced 
urchin,  in  light  snuff-coloured  clothes,  glistering  over  with  sugar-loaf 
buttons.  There  is  another  man,  a  great  man,  a  literary  man,  whom 
the  public  loves,  and  who  took  a  sudden  leap  from  obscurity  into 
fame  and  wealth.  This  was  a  crime ;  but  he  bore  his  rise  with  so 
much  modesty,  that  even  his  brethren  of  the  pen  did  not  envy 
him.  One  luckless  day  he  set  up  a  one-horse  chaise ;  from  that 
minute  he  was  doomed. 

"  Have  you  seen  his  new  carriage  1 "  says  Snarley. 

"Yes,"  says  Yow ;  "he's  so  consumedly  proud  of  it,  that  he 
can't  see  his  old  friends  while  he  drives." 

"Ith  it  a  donkey -cart,"  lisps  Simper,  "  thith  gwand  cawwaigel 
I  always  thaid  that  the  man,  from  hith  thtile,  wath  fitted  to  be 
a  vewy  dethent  cothter monger." 

"Yes,  yes,"  cries  old  Candour,  "a  sad  pity  indeed! — dreadfully 
extravagant,  I'm  told — bad  health — expensive  family — works  going 
down  every  day — and  now  he  must  set  up  a  carriage  forsooth  !  " 

Snarley,  Yow,  Simper,  Candour,  hate  their  brother.  If  he  is 
ruined,  they  will  be  kind  to  him,  and  just;  but  he  is  successful, 
and  woe  be  to  him. 

This  trifling  digression  of  half  a  page  or  so,  although  it  seems  to 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  story  in  hand,  has,  nevertheless,  the 
strongest  relation  to  it ;  and  you  shall  hear  what. 

In  one  word,  then,  Mr.  Brandon  bragged  so  much,  and  assumed 
such  airs  of  superiority,  that  after  a  while  he  perfectly  disgusted 
Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  Macarty,  who  were  gentlefolks  them- 
selves, and  did  not  at  all  like  his  way  of  telling  them  that  he  was 
their  better.  Mr.  Fitch  was  swallowed  up  in  his  hart  as  he  called 
it,  and  cared  nothing  for  Brandon's  airs.  Gann,  being  a  low-spirited 
fellow,  completely  submitted  to  Mr.  Brandon,  and  looked  up  to  him 
with  deepest  wonder.  And  poor  little  Caroline  followed  her  father's 
faith,  and  in  six  weeks  after  Mr.  Brandon's  arrival  at  the  lodgings 
had  grown  to  believe  him  the  most  perfect,  finished,  polished,  agree- 
able of  mankind.  Indeed,  the  poor  girl  had  never  seen  a  gentleman 
before,   and    towards   such    her   gentle  heart  turned  instinctively. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       27 

Brandon  never  offended  lier  by  liard  words ;  insulted  her  hy  cruel 
scorn,  such  as  she  met  with  from  her  mother  and  her  sisters ;  there 
was  a  quiet  manner  about  the  man  quite  different  to  any  that  she 
had  before  seen  amongst  the  acquaintances  of  her  family ;  and  if  he 
assumed  a  tone  of  superiority  in  his  conversation  with  her  and  the 
rest,  Caroline  felt  tliat  he  tvas  their  superior,  and  as  such  admired 
and  respected  him. 

What  happens  when  in  the  innocent  bosom  of  a  girl  of  sixteen 
such  sensations  arise"?  What  has  happened  ever  since  the  world 
began  1 

I  have  said  that  Miss  Caroline  had  no  friend  in  the  world  but 
her  father,  and  must  here  take  leave  to  recall  that  assertion  ; — a 
friend  she  most  certainly  had,  and  that  was  honest  Becky,  the 
smutty  maid,  whose  name  has  been  mentioned  before.  Miss  Caro- 
line had  learned,  in  the  course  of  a  life  spent  under  the  tyranny  of 
her  mamma,  some  of  the  notions  of  the  latter,  and  would  have  been 
very  much  offended  to  call  Becky  her  friend  :  but  friends,  in  ftxct, 
they  were ;  and  a  great  comfort  it  was  for  Caroline  to  descend  to 
the  calm  kitchen  from  the  stormy  back-parlour,  and  there  vent  some 
of  her  little  woes  to  the  compassionate  servant  of  all  work. 

When  Mrs.  Gann  went  out  with  her  daughters,  Becky  would 
take  her  work  and  come  and  keep  Miss  Caroline  company  ;  and 
if  the  truth  must  be  told,  the  greatest  enjoyment  the  pair  used  to 
have  was  in  these  afternoons,  wlien  they  read  together  out  of  the 
precious  greasy  marble-covered  volumes  that  Mrs.  Gann  was  in 
the  habit  of  fetching  from  the  library.  Many  and  many  a  tale 
had  the  pair  so  gone  through.  I  can  see  tliem  over  "Manfrone; 
or  the  One-handed  Monk  " — the  room  dark,  the  street  silent,  tlie 
hour  ten — the  tall  red  lurid  candlewick  waggling  down,  the  flame 
flickering  pale  upon  Miss  Caroline's  pale  face  as  she  read  out,  and 
lighting  up  honest  Becky's  goggling  eyes,  who  sat  silent,  her  work 
in  her  lap ;  she  had  not  done  a  stitch  of  it  for  an  hour.  As  the 
trap-door  slowly  opens,  and  the  scowling  Alonzo,  bending  over  the 
slee])ing  Imoinda,  draw$  his  jjistol,  cocks  it,  looks  Avell  if  tiie 
priming  be  right,  places  it  tlien  to  tlie  sleejx^r's  car,  and — thiinder- 
under-under — down  fall  the  snuffers  !  Becky  has  had  them  in 
her  hand  for  ten  minutes,  afraid  to  use  them.  Up  starts  Caroline, 
and  flings  the  Imok  liack  into  lier  mamma's  basket.  It  is  that  lady 
returned  with  her  daughters  from  a  tea-party,  where  two  young 
gents  from  London  have  been  mighty  genteel  indeed. 

For  the  sentimental  too,  as  well  as  for  the  terrible,  Miss 
Caroline  and  the  cook  had  a  strong  predilection,  and  had  wept 
their  poor  eyes  out  over  "Thaddeus  of  Warsaw  "  and  the  "Scottish 
Chiefs."     Fortiiied  by  the  cxami)los  drawn  from  those  instructive 


28  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

volumes,  Bei^ky  was  firmly  convinced  that  her  young  mistress 
■would  meet  with  a  great  lord  some  day  or  other,  or  be  carried  off, 
like  Cinderella,  by  a  brilliant  prince,  to  the  mortification  of  her 
elder  sisters,  whom  Becky  hated.  And  when,  therefore,  the  new 
lodger  came,  lonely,  mysterious,  melancholy,  elegant,  with  the 
romantic  name  of  George  Brandon — wlien  he  wrote  a  letter  directed 
to  a  lord,  and  Miss  Caroline  and  Becky  together  examined  the 
superscription,  such  a  look  passed  between  them  as  the  pencil  of 
Leslie  or  Maclise  could  alone  describe  for  us.  Becky's  orbs  were 
lighted  up  with  a  preternatural  look  of  wondering  wisdom ;  where- 
as, after  an  instant,  Caroline  dropped  hers,  and  blushed,  and  said, 
"  Nonsense,  Becky  !  " 

"/s  it  nonsense?"  said  Becky,  grinning  and  snapping  her 
fingers  with  a  triumphant  air :  "  the  cards  comes  true ;  I  knew 
they  would.  Didn't  you  have  king  and  queen  of  hearts  three 
deals  running?  What  did  you  dream  about  last  Tuesday,  tell 
me  that  ? " 

But  Miss  Caroline  never  did  tell,  for  her  sisters  came  bouncing 
down  the  stairs,  and  examined  the  lodger's  letter.  Caroline,  how- 
ever, went  away  musing  much  upon  these  points ;  and  she  began 
to  think  Mr.  Brandon  more  wonderful  and  beautiful  every  day. 

In  the  meantime,  while  Miss  Caroline  was  innocently  indulging 
in  her  inclination  for  the  brilliant  occupier  of  the  first  floor,  it 
came  to  pass  that  the  tenant  of  the  second  was  inflamed  by  a  most 
romantic  passion  for  her. 

For,  after  partaking  for  about  a  fortnight  of  the  family  dinner, 
and  passing  some  evenings  with  Mrs.  Gann  and  tlie  young  ladies, 
Mr.  Fitch,  though  by  no  means  quick  of  comprehension,  began 
to  perceive  that  the  nightly  charges  that  were  brought  against 
poor  Caroline  could  not  be  founded  upon  truth.  "Let's  see," 
mused  he  to  himself.  "  Tuesday,  the  old  lady  said  her  daughter 
was  bringing  her  grey  hairs  ^^'ith  sorrow  to  the  grave,  because  the 
cook  had  not  boiled  the  potatoes.  Wednesday,  she  said  Caroline 
was  an  assassin,  because  she  could  not  find  her  own  tliimble. 
Thursday,  she  vows  Caroline  has  no  religion,  because  that  old  pair 
of  silk  stockings  were  not  darned.  And  this  can't  be,"  reasoned 
Fitch  deeply.  "A  gal  hain't  a  murderess  because  her  ma  can't 
find  her  thimble.  A  woman  that  goes  to  slap  her  grown-up 
daughter  on  the  back,  and  before  company  too,  for  such  a  paltry 
thing  as  a  hold  pair  of  stockings,  can't  be  surely  a-speaking  the 
truth."  And  thus  gradually  his  first  impression  against  Carohne 
wore  away.  As  this  disappeared,  pity  took  possession  of  his  soul 
— and  we  know  what  pity  is  akin  to ;  and,  at  the  same  time,  a 
corresponding  hatred  for  the  oppressors  of  a  creature  so  amiable. 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  29 

To  sum  up,  in  six  short  weeks  after  the  appearance  of  the  two 
gentlemen,  we  find  our  chief  dramatis  personce  as  follows  : 

Caroline,  an  innocent  young  woman,  in  love  with  Brandon. 
Fitch,  a  celebrated  painter,  almost  in  love  with  Caroline. 
Brandon,  a  young  gentleman,  in  love  with  himself. 

At  first  he  was  pretty  constant  in  his  attendance  upon  the 
Misses  Macarty  when  they  went  out  to  walk,  nor  were  tliey  dis- 
pleased at  his  attentions ;  but  he  found  that  there  were  a  great 
number  of  IVIargate  beaux — ugly  vulgar  fellows  as  ever  were — who 
always  followed  in  the  young  ladies'  train,  and  made  themselves 
infinitely  more  agreeable  than  he  was.  These  men  Mr.  Brandon 
treated  with  a  great  deal  of  scorn  :  and,  in  return,  they  hated  him 
cordially.  So  did  the  ladies  speedily  :  his  haughty  manners,  though 
quite  as  impertinent  and  free,  were  not  half  so  pleasant  to  them 
as  Jones's  jokes  or  Smith's  charming  romps ;  and  the  girls  gave 
Brandon  very  shortly  to  understand  that  they  were  much  ha])pier 
without  him.  "Ladies,  your  humble,"  he  heard  Bob  Smith  say, 
as  that  little  linendra])er  came  skipping  to  the  door  from  which  they 
were  issuing.  "  The  sun's  hiii)  and  trade  is  down ;  if  you're  for  a 
walk,  I'ni  your  man."  And  IMiss  Linda  and  Miss  Bella  each  took 
an  arm  of  Mr.  Smith,  and  sailed  down  the  street.  "  I'm  glad  you 
ain't  got  that  proud  gent  with  the  glass  hi,"  said  Mr.  Smith  ;  "  he's 
the  most  hillbred  sui)ercilious  beast  I  ever  see." 

"  So  he  is,"  says  Bella. 

"  Hush  !  "  says  Linda. 

The  "proud  gent  with  the  glass  hi"  was  at  this  moment  lolling 
out  of  the  fu'st-tloor  window,  smoking  his  accustomed  cigar;  and 
his  eye-glass  was  fixed  upon  the  ladies,  to  whom  he  made  a  very 
low  bow.  It  may  be  imagined  how  fond  he  was  of  them  afterwards, 
and  what  looks  he  cast  at  Mr.  Bob  Smith  the  next  time  he  met 
him.  Mr.  Bo1)'s  heart  beat  for  a  day  afterwards ;  and  he  found  he 
had  1)usincss  in  town. 

But  the  love  of  society  is  stronger  than  even  pride ;  and  tlie 
great  Mr.  Brandon  was  sometimes  fain  to  descend  from  his  high 
station  and  consort  with  the  vulgar  family  with  whom  he  lodged. 
But,  as  we  have  said,  he  always  did  this  with  a  wonderfully  con- 
descending air,  giving  his  associate's  to  understand  how  great  was 
the  honour  he  did  them. 

One  day,  then,  he  was  al)solutt'ly  so  kind  as  to  accept  of  an 
invitation  from  tlie  ground-fioor,  which  was  delivered  in  the  passage 
l)y  Mr.  James  (Jann,  wlio  said,  "  It  was  hard  to  see  a  gent  eating 
nmtton-chops  from  week's  end  to  week's  end ;  and  if  I\Ir.  Brandon 
had  a  mind  to  meet  a  devilisli  goml  I'dlnw  as  ever  was,  my  friend 


30  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

Swigby,  a  man  who  rides  liis  horse,  and  has  his  five  hundred  a  year 
to  spend,  and  to  eat  a  prime  cut  out  of  as  good  a  leg  of  pork  (though 
he  said  it)  as  ever  a  knife  was  stuck  into,  they  should  dine  that  day 
at  three  o'clock  sharp,  and  Mrs.  G.  and  the  gals  would  be  glad  of 
the  honour  of  his  company." 

The  person  so  invited  was  rather  amused  at  the  terms  in  which 
Mr.  Gann  conveyed  his  hospitable  message ;  and  at  three  o'clock 
made  his  appearance  in  the  back-parlour,  whence  he  had  the  honour 
of  conducting  Mrs.  Gann  (dressed  in  a  sweet  yellow  mousseline  de 
laine,  with  a  large  red  turban,  a.  ferro7iniere,  and  a  smelling-bottle 
attached  by  a  ring  to  a  very  damp  fat  hand)  to  the  "  office,"  where 
the  repast  was  set  out.  The  Misses  Macarty  were  in  costumes 
equally  tasty  :  one  on  the  guest's  right  hand ;  one  near  the  boarder, 
Mr.  Fitch — who,  in  a  large  beard,  an  amethyst  velvet  waistcoat, 
his  hair  fresh  wetted,  and  parted  accurately  down  the  middle  to  fall 
in  curls  over  his  collar,  would  have  been  irresistible  if  the  collar  had 
been  a  little,  little  whiter  than  it  was. 

Mr.  Brandon,  too,  was  dressed  in  his  very  best  suit ;  for  though 
he  affected  to  despise  his  hosts  very  much,  he  wished  to  make  the 
most  favourable  impression  upon  them,  and  took  care  to  tell  Mrs. 
Gann  that  he  and  Lord  So-and-so  were  the  only  two  men  in  the 
world  who  were  in  possession  of  that  particular  waistcoat  which 
she  admired  :  for  Mrs.  Gann  was  very  gracious,  and  had  admired 
the  waistcoat,  being  desirous  to  impress  with  awe  Mr.  Gann's  friend 
and  admirer,  Mr.  Swigby — who,  man  orf  fortune  as  he  was,  was  a 
constant  frequenter  of  the  club  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

About  this  club  and  its  supporters  Mr.  Gann's  guest,  Mr.  Swigby, 
and  Gann  himself,  talked  very  gaily  before  dinner ;  all  the  jokes 
about  all  the  club  being  roared  over  by  the  pair. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  felt  he  was  the  great  man  of  the  party,  in- 
dulged himself  in  his  great  propensities  without  restraint,  and  told 
Mrs.  Gann  stories  about  half  the  nobility.  Mrs.  Gann  conversed 
knowingly  about  the  Opera  ;  and  declared  that  she  thought  Taglioni 
the  sweetest  singer  in  the  world. 

"Mr. — a — Swigby,  have  you  ever  seen  Lablache  dance  ? "  asked 
Mr.  Brandon  of  that  gentleman,  to  whom  he  had  been  formally 
introduced. 

"  At  Vauxhall  is  he  ? "  said  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  just  from 
town. 

"  Yes,  on  the  tight-rope  ;  a  charming  performer." 

On  which  Mr.  Gann  told  how  he  had  been  to  Vauxhall  when 
the  princes  were  in  London  ;  and  his  lady  talked  of  these  knowingly. 
And  then  they  fell  to  conversing  about  fireworks  and  rack-punch ; 
Mr.  Brandon  assuring  tlae  young  ladies  that  Vauxhall  was  the  very 


A   SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 


31 


pink  of  the  fasliion,  and  longing  to  liave  the  honour  of  dancing  a 
quadrille  Avith  them  there.  Indeed,  Brandon  was  so  very  sarcastic, 
that  not  a  single  soul  at  table  understood  him. 

The  table,  from  Mr.  Brandon's  plan  of  it,  which  was  afterwards 
sent  to  my  Lord  Cinqbars,  was  arranged  as  follows  : — 


Miss  Caroline. 


Mr.  Fitch. 


Miss  L.  Macarty. 


1. 

Potatoes. 

3. 

A   roast  leg  of 
pork,      with     sage 
and  onions. 

Three     shreds 
of    celery    in     a 
glass. 

Boiled  haddock, 
removed  by  hashed 
mutton. 

2. 

Cabbage. 

4. 

Mr.  Swigby. 


Miss  B.  Macarty. 


Mr.  Brandon. 


1  and  2  are  pots  of  porter;  3,  a  quart  of  ale,  Mrs.  Gann's 
favourite  drink ;  4,  a  bottle  of  fine  old  golden  sherry,  the  real  pro- 
duce of  the  Uva  grape,  purchased  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  Hotel  for 
Is.  9d.  by  Mr.  J.  Gann. 

Mr.  Gann.  ' '  Taste  that  sherry,  sir.  Your  'ealth,  and  my 
services  to  you,  sir.  That  wine,  sir,  is  given  me  as  a  particular 
favour  by  my — ahem  !^my  wine-merchant,  who  only  will  part  with 
a  small  quantity  of  it,  and  imports  it  direct,  sir,  from — ahem  ! — 
from " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "From  Xeres,  of  course.  It  is,  I  really  think, 
the  finest  wine  I  ever  tasted  in  my  life — at  a  commoner's  table, 
that  is." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "  Oh,  in  course,  a  commoner's  table  ! — we  have  no 
titles,  sir  (Mr.  Gann,  I  will  trouble  you  for  some  more  crackling), 
though  my  poor  dear  girls  are  related,  by  their  blessed  lather's  side, 
to  some  of  the  fii'st  nobility  in  the  land,  I  assure  you." 

Mr.  Gann.  "  Gammon,  Jooly  my  dear.  Them  Irish  nobility, 
you  know,  what  are  theyl  And,  besides,  it's  my  belief  that  the 
gals  are  no  more  related  to  them  than  I  am." 

^f^ss  Bella  {to  }fr.  Brandon,  confidentially).  "  You  must  find 
that  poor  Par  is  sadly  vulgar,  Mr.  Brandon." 

Mrs.  Gann.  "  Mr.  Brandon  has  never  been  accustomed  to  such 
language,  I  am  sure ;  and  I  entreat  you  will  excuse  Mr.  Gann's 
rudeness,  sir." 


32  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

Hiss  Linda.  "  Indeed,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Brandon,  that  we've 
high  connections  as  well  as  low;  as  high  as  some  people's  connec- 
tions, per'aps,  though  we  are  not  always  talking  of  the  nobility." 
This  was  a  double  shot :  the  first  barrel  of  Miss  Linda's  sentence 
hit  her  stepfather,  tlie  second  part  was  levelled  directly  at  Mr. 
Brandon.      "  Don't  you  think  I'm  right,  Mr.  Fitch  ? " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  You  are  quite  right.  Miss  Linda,  in  this  as  in 
every  other  instance ;  but  I  am  afraid  Mr.  Fitch  has  not  paid  proper 
attention  to  your  excellent  remark  :  for,  if  I  don't  mistake  the 
meaning  of  that  beautiful  design  which  he  has  made  with  his  fork 
upon  the  tablecloth,  his  soul  is  at  this  moment  wrapped  up  in 
his  art." 

This  was  exactly  what  Mr.  Fitch  wished  that  all  the  world 
should  suppose.  He  flung  back  his  hair,  and  stared  wildly  for  a 
moment,  and  said,  "  Pardon  me,  madam :  it  is  true  my  thoughts 
were  at  that  moment  far  away  in  the  regions  of  my  hart."  He 
was  really  thinking  that  his  attitude  was  a  very  elegant  one,  and 
that  a  large  garnet  ring  which  he  wore  on  his  forefinger  must  be 
mistaken  by  all  the  company  for  a  ruby. 

"  Art  is  very  well,"  said  Mr.  Brandon ;  "  but  with  such  pretty 
natural  objects  before  you,  I  wonder  you  were  not  content  to  think 
of  them." 

"Do  you  mean  the  mashed  potatoes,  sirl"  said  Andrea  Fitch, 
wondering. 

"  I  mean  Miss  Rosalind  Macarty,"  answered  Brandon  gallantly, 
and  laughing  heartily  at  the  painter's  simplicity.  But  this  com- 
pliment could  not  soften  Miss  Linda,  who  had  an  uneasy  convic- 
tion that  Mr.  Brandon  was  laughing  at  her,  and  disliked  him 
accordingly. 

At  this  juncture,  Miss  Caroline  entered  and  took  the  place 
marked  as  hers,  to  the  left  hand  of  Mr.  Gann,  vacant.  An  old 
rickety  wooden  stool  was  placed  for  her,  instead  of  that  elegant 
and  commodious  Windsor  chair  which  supported  every  other  person 
at  table ;  and  by  the  .side  of  the  plate  stood  a  curious  old  battered 
tin  mug,  on  which  the  antiquarian  might  possibly  discover  the 
inscription  of  the  word  "Caroline."  This,  in  truth,  was  poor 
Caroline's  mug  and  stool,  having  been  appropriated  to  her  from 
childhood  upwards ;  and  here  it  was  her  custom  meekly  to  sit,  and 
eat  her  daily  meal. 

It  was  well  that  the  girl  was  placed  near  her  father,  else  I  do 
believe  she  would  have  been  starved  ;  but  Gann  was  much  too 
good-natured  to  allow  that  any  difference  should  be  made  between 
her  and  her  sisters.  There  are  some  meannesses  which  are  too 
mean  even  for  man — woman,  lovely  woman  alone,  can  venture  to 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  33 

commit  them.  Well,  ou  the  present  occasion,  and  when  the  dinner 
was  half  over,  poor  Caroline  stole  gently  into  the  room  and  took 
her  ordinary  place.  Caroline's  pale  face  was  very  red  ;  for  the  fact 
must  be  told  that  she  had  been  in  the  kitchen  helping  Becky,  the 
universal  maid  ;  and  having  heard  how  the  great  Mr.  Brandon  was 
to  dine  with  them  ui)on  that  day,  the  simple  girl  had  been  showing 
her  respect  for  him,  by  compiling,  in  her  best  manner,  a  certain 
dish,  for  the  cooking  nf  which  her  ])apa  had  often  praised  her.  She 
took  her  ])lace,  lilushing  violently  when  she  saw  him,  and  if  Mr. 
Gann  had  not  been  making  a  violent  clattering  with  his  knife  and 
fork,  it  is  possible  that  he  might  have  heard  Miss  Caroline's  heart 
thump,  which  it  did  violently.  Her  dress  was  somehow  a  little 
smarter  than  usual ;  and  Becky  the  maid,  who  brought  in  that 
remove  of  hashed  mutton  which  has  been  set  down  in  the  bill  of 
fare,  looked  at  her  young  lady  with  a  good  deal  of  complacency,  as, 
loaded  with  plates,  she  quitted  the  room.  Indeed,  the  poor  girl 
deserved  to  be  looked  at :  there  was  an  air  of  gentleness  and  inno- 
cence about  her  tliat  was  apt  to  please  some  persons,  much  more 
than  the  bold  beauties  of  her  sisters.  The  two  young  men  did  not 
fail  to  remark  this;  one  of  them,  the  little  painter,  had  long  since 
observed  it. 

"  You  are  very  late,  nuss,"  cried  Mrs.  Gann,  who  affected  not 
to  know  what  had  caused  her  daughter's  delay.  "  You're  always 
late  ! "  and  tlie  elder  girls  stared  and  grinned  at  each  other  know- 
ingly, as  they  always  did  when  mamma  made  such  attacks  upon 
Caroline,  who  only  kept  her  eyes  down  upon  the  tablecloth,  and 
began  to  eat  her  dinner  witliout  saying  a  word. 

"  Come,  my  dear,"  cried  honest  Gann,  "  if  she  is  late  you  know 
why.  A  girl  can't  be  here  and  there  too,  as  I  say ;  can  they, 
Swigby ?"  ' 

"  Impossible  !  "  said  Swigby. 

"Gent.-;,"  continued  Mr.  Gann,  "our  Carry,  you  must  know, 
has  been  downstairs,  making  the  ])udding  for  her  old  papjiy  :  and  a 
good  pudding  slie  makes,  I  can  tell  you." 

Miss  Caroline  blushed  more  vehemontly  than  ever ;  the  artist 
stared  her  full  in  the  face  ;  Mrs.  Gaini  said,  "  Nonsense "  and 
"  Stuff,"  very  majestically  ;  only  Mr.  Brandon  interposed  in 
Caroline's  favour. 

"  I  would  sooner  that  my  wife  should  know  how  to  make  a 
pudding,"  said  he,  "  than  how  to  play  the  best  piece  of  nuisic  in 
the  world  ! " 

"  Law,  Mr.  Brandon  !  I,  for  my  part,  wotddn't  demean  myself 
by  any  such  kitch(Mi-work  !  "  cries  Miss  Linda. 

"Make  ]iu(ldens,  indccil  ;   it's  ojous  !  "  cries  Bella. 
11  c 


34  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

"  For  you,  iny  loves,  of  course  ! "  interposed  their  uianiuia. 
"  Young  women  of  your  family  and  circumstances  is  not  expected  to 
perform  any  such  work.  It's  different  with  Miss  Caroline,  who,  if 
she  does  make  herself  useful  now  and  then,  don't  make  herself  near 
so  useful  as  she  should,  considering  that  she's  not  a  shilling,  and  is 
living  on  our  chaiity,  like  some  other  folks." 

Thus  did  this  amiable  woman  neglect  no  opportunity  to  give  her 
opinions  about  her  husband  and  daughter.  The  former,  however, 
cared  not  a  straw ;  and  the  lattei",  in  this  instance,  was  perfectly 
happy.  Had  not  kind  Mr.  Brandon  apin-oved  of  her  work ;  and 
could  she  ask  for  more  1 

"Mamma  may  say  what  she  pleases  to-day,"  thought  Caroline. 
"  I  am  too  happy  to  be  made  angry  by  her." 

Poor  little  mistaken  Caroline,  to  think  you  were  safe  against 
three  women  !  The  dinner  had  not  advanced  much  further,  when 
Miss  Isabella,  who  had  been  examining  her  younger  sister  curiously 
for  some  short  time,  telegraphed  Miss  Linda  across  the  table,  and 
nodded,  and  winked,  and  pointed  to  her  own  neck ;  a  very  white 
one,  as  I  have  before  had  the  honour  to  remark,  and  quite  without 
any  covering,  except  a  smart  necklace  of  twenty-four  rows  of  the 
lightest  blue  glass  beads,  finishing  in  a  neat  tassel.  Linda  had  a 
similar  ornament  of  a  vermilion  colour ;  whereas  Caroline,  on  this 
occasion,  wore  a  handsome  new  collar  up  to  the  throat,  and  a  l)rooch, 
which  looked  all  the  smarter  for  the  shabby  frock  over  which  they 
were  placed.  As  soon  as  she  saw  her  sister's  signals,  the  poor  little 
thing,  who  had  only  just  done  fluttering  and  blushing,  fell  to  this 
same  work  over  again.  Down  went  her  eyes  once  more,  and  her 
face  and  neck  lighted  up  to  the  colour  of  Miss  Linda's  sham 
cornelian. 

"  What's  the  gals  giggling  and  ogling  about  1 "  said  Mr.  Gann 
innocently. 

"  What  is  it,  my  darling  loves  1 "  said  stately  Mrs.  Gann. 

"Why,  don't  you  see,  ma*?"  said  Linda.  "Look  at  Miss 
Carry  !  I'm  blessed  if  s^e  has  not  got  on  Becky's  collar  and  brooch 
that  Sims  the  pilot  gave  her  !  " 

The  young  ladies  fell  back  in  uproarious  fits  of  laughter,  and 
laughed  all  the  time  that  their  mamma  was  thundering  out  a  speech, 
in  wliich  she  declared  that  her  daughter's  conduct  was  unworthy  a 
gentlewoman,  and  bid  her  leave  the  room  and  take  off  those  dis- 
graceful ornaments. 

There  was  no  need  to  tell  her ;  the  poor  little  thing  gave  one 
piteous  look  at  her  father,  who  was  whistling,  and  seemed  indeed 
to  think  the  matter  a  good  joke ;  and  after  she  had  managed  to 
open  the  door  and  totter  into  the  passage,  you  might  have  heard 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  35 

her  weeping  there,  weeping  tears  more  bitter  than  any  of  the  many 
she  had  shed  in  the  course  of  her  life.  Down  she  went  to  the 
kitclicn,  and  when  she  reached  that  humble  place  of  refuge,  first 
pulled  at  her  neck  and  made  as  if  she  would  take  off  Becky's  collar 
and  brooch,  and  then  flung  herself  into  the  arms  of  that  honest 
scullion,  where  she  cried  and  (tried  till  she  brought  on  the  first  fit 
of  hysterics  that  ever  she  had  had. 

This  crying  could  not  at  first  be  lieard  in  the  parlour,  where  the 
young  ladies,  Mrs.  Gann,  Mr.  Gann,  and  his  friend  from  the  "  Bag 
of  Nails  "  were  roaring  at  the  excellence  of  the  joke.  Mr.  Brandon, 
sipping  sherry,  sat  by,  looking  very  sarcastically  and  slily  from  one 
party  to  the  other ;  Mr.  Fitch  was  staring  about  him  too,  but  with 
a  very  different  expression,  anger  and  wonder  inflaming  his  bearded 
countenance.  At  last,  as  the  laughing  died  away  and  a  faint  voice 
of  weeping  came  from  the  kitchen  below,  Andrew  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  but  bounced  up  from  his  chair  and  rushed  out  of  the  room 
exclaiming — 

"  By  Jove,  it's  too  bad  !  " 

"  What  does  the  man  mean  *?  "  said  Mrs.  Gann. 

He  meant  that  he  was  from  that  moment  over  head  and  ears 
in  love  with  Caroline,  and  that  he  longed  to  beat,  buffet,  pummel, 
thump,  tear  to  pieces,  those  callous  ruffians  who  so  pitilessly  laughed 
at  her. 

"  What's  that  chap  wi'  the  beard  in  such  tantrums  about  ? " 
said  the  gentleman  from  the  "  Bag  of  Nails." 

Mr.  Gann  answered  this  query  by  some  joke,  intimating  that 
"  per'aps  Mr.  Fitch's  dinner  did  not  agree  with  him,"  at  which 
these  worthies  roared  again. 

The  young  ladies  said,  "  Well,  now,  upon  my  word  ! " 

"  Mighty  genteel  behaviour  truly  !  "  cried  mamma  ;  "  but  what 
can  you  expect  from  the  i)oor  thing  ?  " 

Brandon  only  sipped  more  slierry,  but  he  looked  at  Fitch  as  the 
latter  flung  out  of  the  room,  and  his  countenance  was  lighted  up 
by  a  more  unequivocal  snule. 

Thase  two  little  adventures  were  followed  by  a  silence  of  some 
few  minutes,  during  which  the  meats  remained  on  the  table,  and  no 
signs  were  shown  of  that  pudding  upon  which  poor  Caroline  had 
exhausted  her  skill.  The  absen<;e  of  this  delicious  part  of  the  re- 
l)ast  was  first  remarked  by  Mr.  Gann ;  and  his  lady,  after  jangling 
at  the  bell  for  some  time  in  vain,  at  last  begged  one  of  her  daughters 
to  go  and  hasten  matters. 

"Be(;ky!"  shrieked  I\Iiss  Linda  from  the  hall,  but  Becky 
rej)lied  not.      "Becky,  are  we  to  be  kept  waiting  all  day?"  con- 


S6  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

tinned  tlie  lady  in  the  same  shrill  voice.  "  Mamma  wants  tlie 
pudding  !  " 

"  Tell  her  to  fetch  it  herself  ! "  roared  Becky,  at  which 
remark  Gann  and  his  facetious  friend  once  more  went  off  into  fits  of 
laughter. 

"  This  is  too  bad  !  "  said  Mrs.  G.,  starting  up  ;  "  she  shall  leave 
the  house  this  instant  ! "  and  so  no  doubt  Becky  would,  but  that 
tlie  lady  owed  her  five  quarters'  wages ;  which  she,  at  that  period, 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  pay. 

Well,  the  dijiner  at  last  was  at  an  end ;  the  ladies  went  away 
to  tea,  leaving  the  gentlemen  to  their  wine;  Brandon,  very  con- 
descendingly, partaking  of  a  bottle  of  port,  and  listening  with 
admiration  to  the  toasts  and  sentiments  with  which  it  is  still  the 
custom  among  persons  of  Mr.  Gann's  rank  of  life  to  preface  each 
glass  of  wine.     As  thus  :  — 

Glass  1.  "Gents,"  says  Mr.  Gann,  rising,  "this  glass  I  need 
say  nothink  about.  Here's  the  King,  and  long  life  to  him  and  the 
family  ! " 

Mr.  Swigby,  with  his  glass,  goes  knock,  knock,  knock  on  the 
table  ;  and  saying  gravely,  "  The  King  ! "  drinks  off  his  glass  and 
smacks  his  lips  afterwards. 

Mr.  Brandon,  who  had  drunk  half  his,  stops  in  the  midst  and 
says,  "  Oh,  '  The  King  ! '  " 

Jfr.  Swigb]/.   "  A  good  glass  of  wine  that,  Gann  my  boy  !  " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Capital,  really ;  though,  upon  my  faith,  I'm 
no  judge  of  port." 

Mr.  Gann  {smacks).  "  A  fine  fruity  wine  as  ever  I  tasted.  I 
suppose  you,  Mr.  B.,  are  accustomed  only  to  claret.  I've  'ad  it, 
too,  in  my  time,  sir,  as  Swigby  there  very  well  knows.  I  travelled, 
sir,  sure  le  Continonr/,  I  assure  you,  and  drank  my  glass  of  claret 
with  the  best  man  in  France,  or  England  either.  I  wasn't  always 
what  I  am,  sir." 

3fr.  Brandon.   "You  don't  look  as  if  you  were." 

Mr.  Gann.   "  No,  sir.      Before  that  gas  came  in,   I  was 

head,  sir,  of  one  the  fust  'ouses  in  the  hoil-trade,  Gann,  Blubbery  and 
Gann,  sir — Thames  Street,  City.  I'd  my  box  at  Putney,  as  good  a 
gig  and  horse  as  my  friend  there  drives." 

3fr.  Swigb}/.   "  Ay,  and  a  better  too,  Gann,  I  make  no  doubt." 

Mr.  Gann.  "Well,  sap  a  better.  I  had  a  better,  if  money 
could  fetch  it,  sir  ;  and  I  didn't  spare  that,  I  warrant  you.  No, 
no,  James  Gann  didn't  grudge  his  purse,  sir;  and  had  his  friends 
around  him,  as  he's  'appy  to  'ave  now,  sir.  Mr.  Brandon,  your 
'ealth,  sir,  and  may  we  lioften  meet  under  this  ma'ogany.  Swigby 
my  boy,  God  bless  you  !  " 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  37 

Mr.  Brandon.   "Your  very  good  health." 

Mr.  Sivighy.  "  Thank  you,  Gaun.  Here's  to  you,  and  long 
life  and  prosperity  and  happiness  to  you  and  yours.  Bless  you, 
Jim  my  boy ;  Heaven  bless  you !  I  say  this,  Mr.  Bandon — 
Brandon — what's  your  name — there  ain't  a  better  fellow  in  all 
Margate  than  James  Gann, — no,  nor  in  all  England.  Here's  Mrs. 
Gann,  gents,  and  tlie  family.     Mrs.  Gann  ! "  {drinks). 

Mr.  Brandon.   "  Mrs.  Gann.     Hip,  hip,  hurrah  !  "  (drinks). 

Mr.  Gann.  "Mrs.  Gann,  and  thaidc  you,  gents.  A  fine 
woman,  Mr.  B.  ;  ain't  she  now  1  Ah,  if  you'd  seen  'er  when  I 
married  her  !  Gad,  she  teas  fine  then — an  out  and  outer,  sir ! 
Such  a  figure  !  " 

Mr.  Sivi<ihy.  "  You'd  choose  none  but  a  good  'un,  I  war'nt. 
Ha,  ha,  ha  ! '' 

Mr.  Gann.  "Did  I  ever  tell  you  of  my  duel  along  with  the 
regimental  doctor"?  No  !  Then  I  will.  I  was  a  young  chap,  you 
see,  in  those  days ;  and  when  I  saw  her  at  Brussels^ — {Brusell, 
they  call  it) — I  was  right  slick  up  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
her  at  once.  But  what  was  to  be  done  1  There  was  another  gent 
in  the  case — a  regimental  doctor,  sir — a  reg'lar  dragon.  '  Faint 
heart,'  says  I,  '  never  won  a  fair  lady,'  and  so  I  made  so  bold. 
She  took  me,  sent  the  doctor  to  the  right  about.  I  met  him  one 
morning  in  the  park  at  Brussels,  and  stood  to  him,  sir,  like  a  man. 
When  the  afiair  was  over,  my  second,  a  leftenant  of  dragoons,  told 
me,  '  Gann,'  says  he,  '  I've  seen  many  a  man  under  fire — I'm  a 
Waterloo  Tuan,'  says  he, — 'and  have  rode  by  Wellington  many  a 
long  day;  but  I  never,  ff»r  coolness,  see  such  a  man  as  you.' 
Gents,  here's  the  Duke  of  AVellington  and  the  British  army  ! "  {the 
gents  drink). 

Mr.  Brandon.    "Did  you  kill  tlie  doctor,  sirT' 

Mr.  Gann.   "  Why,  no,  sir ;  I  shot  in  the  hair." 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Shot  him  in  the  hair !  Egad,  that  was  a 
severe  shot,  and  a  very  lucky  escape  the  doctor  had  of  it  1  Where- 
about in  the  hair?  a  whisker,  sir;  or,  perhaps,  a  pigtail  V 

Mr.  Htvifjby.  "  Haw,  liaw,  liaw  I  shot'n  in  the  hair — capital, 
capital ! " 

Mr.  Gaini  {u'ho  has  r/roirv  very  red).  "No,  sir,  there  may  be 
some  mistake  in  my  pronunciation,  which  I  didn't  ex])ect  to  have 
laughed  at,  at  my  hown  table." 

Mr.  Brandon.   "My  dear  sir  !     I  i)rotest  and  vow " 

Mr.  Gann.  "Never  mind  it,  sir.  I  gave  you  my  best,  and 
did  my  best  to  make  you  welcome.  If  you  like  better  to  make 
fun  of  me,  do,  sir.  That  may  be  tlie  ijentecl  way,  but  hang  me  if 
it's  hour  way  ;  is  it.  Jack?     Onr  way  ;  I  beg  your  jiardon,  sir." 


38  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

Mr.  Swighy.  "Jim,  Jim!  for  Heaven's  sake  !^peace  and 
harmony  of  the  evening — conviviality — social  enjoyment — didn't 
mean  it — did  you  mean  anything,  Mr.  What-d'-ye-call-'im  ? " 

Mr.  Brandon.  "  Nothing,  upon  my  honour  as  a  gentleman  !  " 
Mr.  Gann.  "  Well,  then,  there's  my  hand  !  "  and  good-natured 
Gann  tried  to  forget  the  insult,  and  to  talk  as  if  nothing  had 
occurred  :  but  he  had  been  wounded  in  the  most  sensitive  point  in 
wliicli  a  man  can  be  touched  by  his  superior,  and  never  forgot 
Brandon's  joke.  That  night  at  the  club,  when  dreadfully  tipsy, 
he  made  several  speeches  on  the  subject,  and  burst  into  tears  many 
times.  The  pleasure  of  the  evening  was  quite  spoiled ;  and,  as  the 
conversation  became  vapid  and  dull,  we  shall  refrain  from  reporting 
it.  Mr.  Brandon  speedily  took  leave,  but  had  not  the  courage  to 
face  the  ladies  at  tea ;  to  whom,  it  appears,  the  reconciled  Becky 
had  brought  that  refreshing  beverage. 


CHAPTER  IV 

IN  WHICH  MR.   FITCH  PROCLAIMS  HIS  LOVE,   AND  MR. 
BRANDON  PREPARES  FOR   IFAR 

FROM  the  splendid  hall  in  which  Mrs.  Gann  was  dispensing 
her  hospitality,  the  celeljrated  painter,  Andrea  Fitch,  rushed 
forth  in  a  state  of  mind  even  more  delirious  than  that  which 
he  usually  enjoyed.  He  looked  abroad  into  the  street :  all  there 
was  dusk  and  lonely ;  the  rain  falling  heavily,  the  wind  playing 
Pandean  pipes  and  whistling  down  the  chimney-pots.  "  I.  love  the 
storm,"  said  Fitch  solemnly ;  and  he  pv;t  his  great  Spanish  cloak 
round  him  in  the  most  approved  manner  (it  was  of  so  prodi,gious  a 
size  that  the  tail  of  it,  as  it  whirled  over  his  shoulder,  whisked 
away  a  lodging-card  from  the  door  of  the  house  opposite  Mr.  Gann's). 
"  I  love  the  storm  and  solitude,"  said  he,  lighting  a  large  pipe  filled 
full  of  the  fragrant  Oronoko ;  and  thus  armed,  he  passed  rapidly 
down  the  street,  his  hat  cocked  over  his  ringlets. 

Andrea  did  not  like  smoking,  but  he  used  a  pipe  as  a  part  of 
his  profession  as  an  artist,  and  as  one  of  the  picturesque  parts  of 
his  costume  ;  in  like  manner,  though  he  did  not  fence,  he  always 
travelled  about  with  a  pair  of  foils  ;  and  quite  unconscious  of  music, 
nevertheless  had  a  guitar  constantly  near  at  hand.  Without  such 
properties  a  painter's  spectacle  is  not  complete ;  and  now  he 
determined  to  add  to  them  another  indispensable  requisite — a 
mistress.  "What  great  artist  was  ever  without  one?"  thought  he. 
Long  long  had  he  sighed  for  some  one  whom  lie  might  love,  some  one 
to  whom  he  might  address  the  poems  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of 
making.  Hundreds  of  such  fraLcmcnts  had  lie  composed,  addressed 
to  Leila,  Ximena,  Ada — imaginary  beauties,  whom  he  courted  in 
dreamy  verse.  With  what  joy  would  he  rei)lace  all  those  by  a  real 
charmer  of  flesh  and  l)lood  !  Away  he  went,  then,  on  this  evening 
— the  tyranny  of  Mrs.  Gann  towards  i)oor  Caroline  having  awakened 
all  his  sympathies  in  the  gentle  girl's  favour — determined  now  and 
for  ever  to  make  her  tiie  mistress  of  his  heart.  Monna-Lisa,  the 
Fornarina,  Leonardo,  Raphael — he  thought  of  all  these,  and  vowed 
that  his  Caroline  should  be  made  fiimous  and  live  for  ever  on  hia 
canvas.     While  Mrs.  Gann  was  preparing  for  her  friends,  and  enter- 


40  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

tainining  them  at  tea  and  whist ;  while  Caroline,  all  unconscious 
of  the  love  she  inspired,  was  weeping  upstairs  in  her  little  garret ; 
while  Mr.  Brandon  was  enjoying  the  refined  conversation  of  Gann 
and  Swigby,  over  their  glass  and  pipe  in  the  office,  Andrea  walked 
abroad  by  the  side  of  the  ocean ;  and,  before  he  was  wet  through, 
walked  himself  into  tlie  most  fervid  affection  for  poor  persecuted 
Caroline.  The  reader  might  have  observed  him  (had  not  the  night 
been  very  dark,  and  a  great  deal  too  wet  to  allow  a  sensible  reader 
to  go  abroad  on  such  an  errand)  at  the  sea-shore  standing  on  a  rock, 
and  drawing  from  his  bosom  a  locket  which  contained  a  curl  of  hair 
tied  up  in  riband.  He  looked  at  it  for  a  moment,  and  then  flung 
it  away  from  him  into  the  black  boiling  waters  below  him. 

"  No  other  'air  but  thine,  Caroline,  shall  ever  rest  near  this 
'art ! "  he  said,  and  kissed  the  locket  and  restored  it  to  its  place. 
Light-minded  youth,  whose  hair  was  it  that  he  thus  flung  away  1 
How  many  times  had  Andrea  shown  that  very  ringlet  in  strictest 
confidence  to  several  brethren  of  the  brush,  and  declared  that  it  was 
the  hair  of  a  dear  girl  in  Spain  whom  he  loved  to  madness  ?  Alas  ! 
'twas  but  a  fiction  of  his  fevered  brain ;  every  one  of  his  friends 
had  a  locket  of  hair,  and  Andrea,  who  had  no  love  until  now,  had 
clipped  tliis  precious  token  from  the  wig  of  a  lovely  lay-figure,  with 
cast-iron  joints  and  a  cardboard  head,  that  had  stood  for  some  time 
in  his  atelier.  I  don't  know  that  he  felt  any  shame  about  the  pro- 
ceeding, for  he  was  of  such  a  warm  imagination  that  he  had  grown 
to  believe  that  the  hair  did  actually  come  from  a  girl  in  Spain,  and 
only  parted  with  it  on  yielding  to  a  superior  attachment. 

This  attachment  being  fixed  on,  the  young  painter  came  home 
wet  through  ;  passed  the  night  in  reading  Byron  ;  making  sketches, 
and  burning  them  ;  writing  poems  to  Caroline,  and  expunging  them 
with  ])itiless  india-rubber.  A  romantic  man  makes  a  point  of  sitting 
up  all  night,  and  pacing  his  chamber ;  and  you  may  see  many  a 
composition  of  Andrea's  dated  "Midnight,  10th  of  March,  A.  F.," 
with  his  peculiar  flourish  over  the  initials.  He  was  not  sorry  to 
be  told  in  the  morning,  by  the  ladies  at  breakfast,  that  he  looked 
dreadfully  i)ale  ;  and  answered,  laying  his  hand  on  his  forehead  and 
shaking  his  head  gloomily,  that  he  could  get  no  sleep  :  and  then 
he  would  heave  a  huge  sigh ;  and  Miss  Bella  and  Miss  Linda  would 
look  at  each  other,  and  grin  according  to  their  wont.  He  was 
glad,  I  say,  to  have  his  woe  remarked,  and  continued  his  sleepless- 
ness for  two  or  three  nights ;  but  he  was  certainly  still  more  glad 
wlien  he  heard  Mr.  Brandon,  on  the  fourth  morning,  cry  out,  in  a 
shrill  angry  voice,  to  Becky  the  maid,  to  give  the  gentleman  up- 
stairs his  compliments — Mr.  Brandon's  compliments — and  tell  him 
that  he  could  not  get  a  wink  of  sleep  for  the  horrid  trampling  he 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       41 

kept  up.  ''  I  am  liani^^ed  if  I  stay  in  the  house  a  night  longer," 
added  the  first-floor  sliarply,  "  if  that  Mr.  Fitch  kicks  up  such  a 
confounded  noise  ! "  Mr.  Fitch's  point  was  gained,  and  henceforth 
he  was  as  quiet  as  a  mouse ;  for  his  wish  was  not  only  to  be  in 
love,  but  to  let  everybody  know  that  he  was  in  love,  or  where  is 
the  use  of  a  belle  jxission  ? 

So,  whenever  he  saw  Caroline,  at  meals,  or  in  the  passage,  he 
used  to  stare  at  her  with  the  utmost  joower  of  his  big  eyes,  and  fall 
to  groaning  most  pathetically.  He  used  to  leave  his  meals  un- 
tasted,  groan,  heave  sighs,  and  stare  incessantly.  Mrs.  Gann  and 
her  eldest  daughters  were  astonished  at  these  manoeuvres  ;  for  they 
never  suspected  that  any  man  could  possibly  be  such  a  fool  as  to 
fall  in  love  with  Caroline.  At  length  the  suspicion  came  upon  them, 
created  immense  laughter  and  delight ;  and  the  ladies  did  not  fail 
to  rally  Caroline  in  their  usual  elegant  way.  Gann,  too,  loved  a 
joke  (much  polite  waggery  had  this  worthy  man  practised  in  select 
inn-parlours  for  twenty  years  past),  and  would  call  poor  Caroline 
"  Mrs.  F.  ; "  and  say  that  instead  of  Fetch  and  Carry,  as  he  used 
to  name  her,  he  should  style  her  Fitch  and  Carry  for  the  future ; 
and  laugh  at  this  great  jiun,  and  make  many  others  of  a  similar 
sort,  that  set  Caroline  blushing. 

Indeed,  the  girl  suftered  a  great  deal  more  from  this  raillery 
than  at  first  may  be  imagined ;  for  after  the  first  awe  inspired  by 
Fitch's  wliiskers  had  passed  away,  and  he  had  drawn  the  young 
ladies'  pictures,  and  made  designs  in  their  albums,  and  in  the  midst 
of  their  jokes  and  conversation  had  remained  perfectly  silent,  tiie 
Gann  family  had  determined  that  the  man  was  an  idiot :  and, 
indeed,  were  not  very  wide  of  the  mark.  In  everything  except  his 
own  jjcculiar  art  honest  Fitch  was  an  idiot ;  and  as  upon  the  sulyect 
of  j)ainting,  tlie  Ganns,  like  most  ])eople  of  their  class  in  England, 
were  profoundly  ignorant,  it  came  to  pass  that  he  would  breakfast 
and  dine  for  many  days  in  their  company,  and  not  utter  one  single 
syllable.  So  they  looked  \\]n)U  him  with  extreme  pity  and  con- 
tempt, as  a  liarinless,  goc^l-natured,  crack-brained  creature,  quite 
below  them  in  the  scale  of  intellect,  and  only  to  be  endured  because 
he  paid  a  certain  number  of  shillings  weekly  to  the  Gann  exchequer. 
Mrs.  Gann  in  all  com[)anies  was  accustomed  to  talk  about  her  idiot. 
Neighbours  and  children  used  to  peer  at  him  as  he  strutted  down 
the  street;  and  though  every  young  lady,  including  my  dear  Caro- 
line, is  flattered  liy  having  a  lover,  at  least  they  don't  like  such  a 
lover  as  tliis.  The  Misses  IMacarty  (after  having  set  their  caps  at 
him  very  fiercely,  and  quarrelled  concerning  him  on  his  first  coming 
to  lodge  at  their  house)  vowed  and  ])rotested  now  that  he  was  no 
better  than  a  cliimjianzce  :  and  ('aniline  and  ISecky  agrccil  that  this 


42        A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY 

insult  was  as  great  as  any  that  could  be  paid  to  the  painter. 
"  He's  a  good  creature,  too,"  said  Becky,  "  crack-brained  as  he  is. 
Do  you  know,  miss,  he  gave  me  half-a-sovereign  to  buy  a  new 
collar,  after  that  business  t'other  day "? " 

"  And  did — Mr. , —  did  the  first-floor  say  anything? "  asked 

Caroline. 

"  Didn't  he !  he's  a  funny  gentleman,  that  Brandon,  sure 
enough;  and  when  I  took  him  up  breakfast  next  morning,  asked 
about  Sims  the  pilot,  and  what  I  gi'ed  Sims  for  the  collar  and 
brooch, — he,  he  !  " 

And  this  was  indeed  a  correct  report  of  Mr.  Brandon's  conversa- 
tion with  Becky ;  he  had  been  infinitely  amused  with  the  whole 
transaction,  and  wrote  his  friend  the  Viscount  a  capital  facetious 
account  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  native  inhabitants  of 
the  Isle  of  Thanet. 

And  now,  when  Mr.  Fitch's  passion  was  fully  developed — as 
far,  that  is,  as  sighs  and  ogles  could  give  it  utterance — a  curious 
instance  of  that  spirit  of  contradiction  for  which  our  race  is  remark- 
able was  seen  in  the  behaviour  of  Mr.  Brandon.  Although  Caroline, 
in  the  depths  of  her  little  silly  heart,  had  set  him  down  for  her 
divinity,  her  wondrous  fairy  prince,  who  was  to  deliver  her  from 
her  present  miserable  durance,  she  had  never  by  word  or  deed 
acquainted  Brandon  with  her  inclination  for  him,  but  had,  with 
instinctive  modesty,  avoided  him  more  sedulously  than  before.  He, 
too,  had  never  bestowed  a  thought  upon  her.  How  should  such  a 
Jove  as  Mr.  Brandon,  from  the  cloudy  summit  of  his  fashionable 
Olympus,  look  down  and  perceive  such  an  humble  retiring  being  as 
poor  little  Caroline  Gann  1  Thinking  her  at  first  not  disagreeable, 
he  had  never,  until  the  day  of  the  dinner,  bestowed  one  single 
further  thought  upon  her ;  and  only  when  exaspei'ated  by  the  Miss 
Macartys'  behaviour  towards  him,  did  he  begin  to  think  how  sweet 
it  would  he  to  make  them  jealous  and  unhappy. 

"  The  uncouth  grinning  monsters,"  said  he,  "  with  their  horrible 
court  of  Bi)b  Smiths  and  Jack  Joneses,  daring  to  look  down  upon 
me,  a  gentleman, — me,  the  celebrated  mangetir  des  cceurs — a  man 
of  genius,  fashion,  and  noble  family  !  If  I  could  but  revenge  myself 
on  them  !     What  injury  can  I  invent  to  wound  them  1 " 

It  is  curious  to  what  points  a  man  in  his  passion  will  go.  Mr. 
Brandon  had  long  since,  in  fact,  tried  to  do  the  greatest  possible 
injury  to  the  young  ladies  ;  for  it  had  been,  at  the  first  dawn  of  his 
acquaintance,  as  we  are  bound  with  much  sorrow  to  confess,  his 
fixed  intention  to  ruin  one  or  the  otlier  of  them.  And  when  the 
young  ladies  had,  by  their  coldness  and  indifference  to  him,  frus- 
trated this  benevolent  intention,  lie  straightway  fancied  that  they 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  43 

had  injured  him  severely,  aud  cast  al)out  for  means  to  revenge 
himself  ui^on  them. 

This  point  is,  to  be  sure,  a  very  delicate  one  to  treat — for  in 
words,  at  least,  the  age  has  grown  to  be  wonderfully  moral,  and 
refuses  to  hear  discourses  upon  such  subjects.  But  human  nature, 
as  far  as  I  am  able  to  learn,  has  not  much  changed  since  the  time 
when  Richardson  wrote  and  Hogarth  painted  a  century  ago.  There 
are  wicked  Lovelaces  abroad,  ladies,  now  as  then,  when  it  was 
considered  no  shame  to  expose  the  rogues  ;  and  pardon  us,  therefore, 
for  hinting  that  such  there  be.  Elegant  acts  of  rouerie,  such  as 
that  meditated  by  I\Ir.  Brandon,  are  often  performed  still  by  dash- 
ing young  men  of  the  world,  who  think  no  sin  of  an  aviourette,  but 
glory  in  it,  especially  if  the  victim  be  a  person  of  mean  condition. 
Ha(l  Brandon  succeeded  (such  is  the  high  moral  state  of  our  British 
youth),  all  his  friends  would  have  pronounced  him,  and  he  wovdd 
have  considered  himself,  to  be  a  very  lucky  caijtivating  dog ;  nor, 
as  I  believe,  would  he  have  had  a  single  pang  of  conscience  for  the 
rascally  action  wliich  he  had  committed.  This  supreme  act  of 
scoundrelism  has  man  permitted  to  himself — to  deceive  women. 
When  we  consider  how  he  has  availed  himself  of  the  privilege  so 
created  by  hiin,  indeed  one  may  sympathise  Avith  the  advocates  of 
woman's  rights  who  })oint  out  this  monstrous  wrong.  We  have 
read  of  tliat  wretched  woman  of  old  whom  the  i)ious  Pharisees  were 
for  stoning  incontinently ;  but  we  don't  hear  that  they  made  any 
outciy  against  the  man  who  was  concerned  in  the  crime.  Where 
was  he  ?  Happy,  no  douljt,  and  easy  in  mind,  and  regaling  some 
choice  friends  over  a  bottle  with  tlie  history  of  liis  success. 

Being  thus  injured  then,  Mr.  Brandon  longed  for  revenge. 
How  should  he  rejjay  these  impertinent  young  women  for  sligliting 
his  addresses'?  " Pardi"  said  he;  "just  to  punish  their  pri(U'  and 
insolence,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  make  love  to  their  sister." 

He  did  not,  however,  for  some  time  condescend  to  perform  this 
threat.  Eagles  such  as  Brandon  do  not  sail  down  from  the  clouds 
in  order  to  pomice  upon  small  Hies,  and  soar  airwards  again,  con- 
tented with  such  an  ignoble  booty.  In  a  word,  he  never  gave  a 
minute's  tliought  to  Miss  Caroline,  until  fui-ther  circumstances 
occurred  whicli  caused  this  great  man  to  consider  her  as  an  object 
som(;wliat  worthy  of  his  remark. 

Tlie  violent  affection  sudtlenly  exhibited  by  Mr.  Fitch,  tlie 
j)ainter,  towards  poor  little  Caroline  was  the  point  which  deter- 
mined Brandon  to  bcLmi  to  act. 

"  My  dear  Viscount  "  (wrote  he  to  the  same  Lord  Cinqbars 
whom  he  formerly  addressed) — -"Cive  me  joy  ;  for  in  a  week's  time 


44  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

it  is  my  intention  to  be  violently  in  love, — and  love  is  no  small 
amusement  in  a  watering-place  in  winter. 

"  I  told  you  about  the  fair  Juliana  Gann  and  her  family.  I 
forgot  whether  I  mentioned  how  the  Juliana  had  two  fair  daughters, 
the  Rosalind  and  the  Isabella  ;  and  another,  Caroline  by  name,  not 
so  good-looking  as  her  half-sisters,  but,  nevertheless,  a  pleasing 
young  person. 

"Well,  when  I  came  hither,  I  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  flill 
in  love  with  the  two  handsomest ;  and  did  so,  taking  many  walks 
with  them,  talking  much  nonsense ;  passing  long  dismal  evenings 
over  horrid  tea  with  them  and  their  mamma :  laying  regular  siege, 
in  fact,  to  these  Mai'gate  beauties,  who,  according  to  the  common 
rule  in  such  cases,  could  not,  I  thought,  last  long. 

"  Miserable  deception  !  disgusting  aristocratic  blindness  !  "  (Mr. 
Brandon  always  assumed  that  his  own  high  birth  and  eminent 
position  were  granted.)  "  Would  you  believe  it,  that  I,  who  have 
seen,  fought,  and  conquered  in  so  many  places,  should  have  been 
ignominiously  defeated  here?  Just  as  American  Jackson  defeated 
our  Peninsular  veterans,  I,  an  old  Continental  conqueror  too,  have 
been  overcome  by  this  ignoble  enemy.  These  women  have  en- 
trenched themselves  so  firmly  in  their  vulgarity,  that  I  have  been 
beaten  back  several  times  with  disgrace,  being  quite  unable  to  make 
an  impression.  The  monsters,  too,  keep  up  a  dreadful  fire  from 
behind  their  entreiichments ;  and  besides  have  raised  the  whole 
country  against  me  :  in  a  word,  all  the  snobs  of  their  acquaintance 
are  in  arms.  There  is  Bob  Smith,  the  linendraper ;  Harry  Jones, 
who  keeps  the  fancy  tea-shop ;  young  Glauber,  the  apothecary ; 
and  sundry  other  persons,  who  are  ready  to  eat  me  when  they 
see  me  in  the  streets ;  and  are  all  at  the  beck  of  the  victorious 
Amazons. 

"  How  is  a  gentleman  to  make  head  against  such  a  canaille 
as  this  1 — a  regular  jacquerie.  Once  or  twice  I  have  thought  of 
retreating ;  but  a  retreat,  for  sundry  reasons  I  have,  is  inconvenient. 
I  can't  go  to  London ;  I  am  known  at  Dover ;  I  believe  there  is 
a  bill  against  me  at  Canterbury ;  at  Chatham  there  are  sundry 
quartered  regiments  whose  recognition  I  should  be  unwilling  to  risk. 
I  must  stay  here — and  be  hanged  to  the  place — until  my  better 
star  shall  rise. 

"  But  I  am  determined  that  my  stay  shall  be  to  some  purpose ; 
and  so  to  show  how  persevering  I  am,  I  shall  make  one  more  trial 
upon  the  third  daughter, — yes,  upon  the  third  daughter,  a  family 
Cinderella,  who  shall,  I  am  determined,  make  her  sisters  crever 
with  envy.  I  merely  mean  fun,  you  know — not  mischief, — for 
Cinderella  is  but  a  little  child :  and,  besides,  I  am  the  most  harm- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       45 

less  fellow  breathing,  but  must  have  my  Joke.  Now,  Cinderella 
has  a  lover,  the  beai'ded  painter  of  wlaom  I  spoke  to  you  in  a 
former  letter.  He  has  lately  plunged  into  the  most  extraoi'dinary 
fits  of  passion  for  her,  and  is  more  mad  than  even  he  was  before. 
Woe  betide  you,  0  painter !  I  have  nothing  to  do  :  a  month  to  do 
that  nothing  in ;  in  that  time,  mark  my  words,  I  will  laugh  at 
that  painter's  beard.  Should  you  like  a  lock  of  it,  or  a  sofa 
stufted  with  it  1  there  is  beard  enough  :  or  should  you  like  to  see 
a  specimen  of  poor  little  Cinderella's  golden  ringlets  1  Command 
your  slave.  I  wish  I  had  paper  enough  to  write  you  an  account 
of  a  grand  Gann  dinner  at  which  I  assisted,  and  of  a  scene  which 
there  took  place ;  and  how  Cinderella  was  dressed  out,  not  by  a 
fairy,  but  by  a  charitable  kitchen-maid,  and  was  turned  out  of 
the  room  by  her  indignant  mamma  for  appearing  in  the  scullion's 
finery.  But  my  forte  does  not  lie  in  sucl:  descriptions  of  jiolite 
life.  We  drank  port,  and  toasts  after  dinner :  here  is  the  menn, 
and  the  names  and  order  of  tlie  eaters." 

The  bill  of  fai'c  has  been  given  already,  and  need  not,  therefore, 
be  again  laid  before  the  public. 

"  What  a  fellow  that  is  ! "  said  young  Lord  Cinqbars,  reading 
the  letter  to  his  friends,  and  in  a  profound  admiration  of  his  tutor's 
genius. 

"  And  to  think  that  he  was  a  reading  man  too,  and  took  a 
double  first,"  cried  another ;  "  why,  the  man's  an  Admirable 
Crichton." 

"Upon  my  life,  though,  he's  a  little  too  bad,"  said  a  third, 
who  was  a  moralist.  And  witli  this  a  frosli  bowl  of  milk-pundi 
came  rooking  from  the  college  butteries,  and  the  jovial  i)arty 
discussed  that. 


CHAPTER   V 

CONTAINS  A  GREAT  DEAL  OF  COMPLICATED  LOVE-MAKING 

THE  Misses  Macarty  were  excessively  indignant  that  Mr.  Fitch 
should  have  had  the  audacity  to  fall  in  love  with  their  sister; 
and  poor  Caroline's  life  was  not,  as  may  be  imagined,  made 
much  the  happier  by  the  envy  and  passion  thus  excited.  Mr. 
Fitch's  amour  was  the  source  of  a  great  deal  of  pain  to  her.  Her 
mother  would  tauntingly  say  that,  as  both  were  beggars,  they  could 
not  do  better  than  marry ;  and  declared,  in  the  same  satirical  way, 
that  she  should  like  nothing  better  than  to  see  a  large  flimily  of 
grandchildren  about  her,  to  be  plagues  and  burdens  upon  her,  as 
her  daughter  was.  The  short  way  would  have  been,  when  the 
young  jminter's  intentions  were  manifest,  which  they  pretty  speedily 
were,  to  have  requested  him  immediately  to  quit  the  house ;  or,  as 
Mr.  Gann  said,  "  to  give  him  the  sack  at  once ; "  to  which  measure 
the  worthy  man  indignantly  avowed  that  he  would  have  resort. 
But  his  lady  would  not  allow  of  any  such  rudeness ;  although,  for 
hei'  part,  she  professed  the  strongest  scorn  and  contempt  for  the 
painter.  For  the  painful  fixct  must  be  stated  :  Fitch  had  a  short 
time  jn-eviously  paid  no  less  a  siun  than  a  whole  quarter's  board 
and  lodging  in  advance,  at  Mrs.  Gann's  humble  request,  and  he 
l)ossessed  his  landlady's  receipt  for  that  sum  ;  the  mention  of  which 
circumstance  silenced  Gann's  objections  at  once.  And  indeed,  it  is 
pretty  certain  that,  with  all  her  taunts  to  her  daughter  and  just 
abuse  of  Fitch's  poverty,  Mrs.  Gann  in  her  heart  was  not  altogether 
averse  to  the  match.  In  the  first  place,  she  loved  match-making ; 
next,  she  would  be  glad  to  be  rid  of  her  daughter  at  any  rate  ;  and, 
besides.  Fitch's  aunt,  the  auctioneer's  wife,  was  rich,  and  had  no 
children ;  painters,  as  she  had  lieard,  make  often  a  great  deal  of 
money,  and  Fitch  might  be  a  clever  one,  for  aught  she  knew.  So 
he  was  allowed  to  remain  in  the  house,  an  undeclared  but  very 
assiduous  lover ;  and  to  sigh,  and  to  moan,  and  make  verses  and 
portraits  of  his  beloved,  and  build  castles  in  the  air  as  best  he 
might.  Indeed  our  humble  Cinderella  was  in  a  very  curious  position. 
She  felt  a  tender  passion  for  the  first-floor  and  was  adored  by  tlie 
second-fioor,  and  had  to  wait  upon  both  at  the  summons  of  the  bell 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  47 

of  either ;  and  as  the  poor  little  thing  was  compelled  not  to  notice 
any  of  the  sighs  and  glances  which  the  painter  bestowed  upon  her, 
she  also  liad  schooled  herself  to  maintain  a  quiet  demeanour  towards 
Mr.  Brandon,  and  not  allow  him  to  discover  the  secret  which  was 
labouring  in  her  little  breast. 

I  think  it  may  be  laid  down  as  a  pretty  general  rule,  that  most 
romantic  little  girls  of  Caroline's  age  have  such  a  budding  sentiment 
as  this  young  person  entertained;  quite  innocent  of  course;  nourished 
and  talked  of  in  delicious  secrecy  to  the  confidante  of  the  hour. 
Or  else  Avhat  are  novels  made  for  ?  Had  Caroline  read  of  Valan- 
court  and  Emily  for  nothing,  or  gathered  no  good  example  from 
those  five  tear-fraught  volumes  which  describe  the  loves  of  Miss 
Helen  Mar  and  Sir  William  Wallace"?  Many  a  time  had  she 
depicted  Brandon  in  a  fancy  costume,  such  as  the  fascinating  Valan- 
court  wore ;  or  ])ainted  herself  as  Helen,  tying  a  sash  round  her 
knight's  cuirass,  and  watching  him  forth  to  battle.  Silly  fancies,  no 
doubt ;  but  consider,  madam,  the  poor  girl's  age  and  education  ;  the 
only  instruction  she  had  ever  received  was  from  these  tender,  kind- 
hearted,  silly  books :  the  only  happiness  which  Fate  had  allowed 
her  was  in  this  little  silent  M^orld  of  fancy.  It  would  be  hard  to 
grudge  the  poor  thing  iier  dreams ;  and  many  such  did  she  have, 
and  impart  blushingly  to  honest  Becky,  as  they  sate  by  the  humble 
kitchen-fire. 

Although  it  cost  li(>r  heart  a  great  pang,  she  had  once  ventured 
to  implore  her  mother  not  to  send  her  u])stairs  to  the  lodgers'  rooms, 
for  she  shrank  at  the  notion  of  the  occun-ence  tliat  Brandon  should 
discover  her  regard  for  him ;  but  this  point  had  never  entered  Mrs. 
Gann's  sagacious  head.  Slie  thought  her  daughter  wished  to  avoid 
Fitch,  and  sternly  bade  her  do  her  duty,  and  not  give  herself  sucn 
impertinent  airs  ;  and,  indeed,  it  can't  be  said  that  poor  Caroliiu^ 
was  very  sorry  at  being  compelled  to  continue  to  see  Brandon.  To 
do  both  gentlemen  justice,  neither  ever  said  a  word  unfit  for  Caroline 
to  hear.  Fitch  would  have  been  torn  to  pieces  by  a  thousand  wild 
horses  rather  than  have  breathed  a  single  syllable  to  hurt  her  feel- 
ings ;  and  Brandon,  though  by  no  means  so  squeamish  on  ordinary 
occa.sions,  was  innately  a  gentleman,  and  from  taste  rather  than 
from  virtue  was  carefully  respectful  in  his  behaviour  to  her. 

As  for  the  Misses  Macarty  themselves,  it  has  been  stated  that 
they  had  already  given  away  their  hearts  several  times ;  ]\Iiss 
Isabella  lieing  at  this  moment  attached  to  a  certain  young  wine- 
merchant,  and  to  Lieutenant  or  Colonel  Swabber  of  the  Spaiush 
service  ;  and  IMiss  liosalin<l  having  a  decided  fimdness  for  a  foreign 
nobleman,  with  lilark  mustacluos,  who  had  paid  a  visit  to  Margate. 
Of  Miss  Bella's  lovers,  Swabber  had  disappeared  ;  l)ut  she  still  met 


48  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

the  wine-merchant  i^retty  often,  and  it  is  believed  had  gone  very 
nigh  to  accept  him.  As  for  Miss  Rosalind,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that 
the  course  of  laer  true  love  ran  by  no  means  smoothly  :  the  French- 
man had  turned  out  to  be  not  a  marquess,  but  a  billiard-marker ; 
and  a  sad  sore  subject  the  disappointment  was  with  tlie  neglected 
lady. 

We  should  have  spoken  of  it  long  since,  had  the  subject  been 
one  that  was  mucli  canvassed  in  the  Gann  family ;  but  once  when 
Gann  had  endeavoured  to  rally  his  step-daughter  on  this  unfor- 
tunate attachment  (using  for  the  purpose  tliose  delicate  turns  of  wit 
for  which  the  honest  gentleman  was  always  famous).  Miss  Linda 
had  flown  into  such  a  violent  fury,  and  comported  herself  in  a  way 
so  dreadful,  that  James  Gann,  Esquire,  was  fairly  frightened  out  of 
ins  wits  by  the  threats,  screams,  and  imprecations  which  she  uttered. 
Miss  Bella,  who  was  disposed  to  be  jocose  likewise,  was  likewise 
awed  into  silence  ;  for  her  dear  sister  talked  of  tearing  her  eyes  out 
tliat  minute,  and  uttered  some  hints,  too,  regarding  love-matters 
personally  affecting  Miss  Bella  herself,  which  caused  that  young 
lady  to  turn  pale-red,  to  mutter  something  about  "wicked  lies," 
and  to  leave  the  room  immediately.  Nor  was  the  subject  ever 
again  broached  by  the  Ganns.  Even  when  Mrs.  Gann  once  talked 
about  that  odious  Frencli  impostor,  she  was  stopped  immediately, 
not  by  the  lady  concerned,  but  by  Miss  Bella,  who  cried  sharply, 
"  Mamma,  hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  vex  our  dear  Linda  by 
alluding  to  any  such  stuff"."  It  is  most  probable  that  the  young 
ladies  had  had  a  private  conference,  which,  beginning  a  little  fiercely 
at  first,  had  ended  amicably  ;  and  so  the  marquess  was  mentioned 
no  more. 

Miss  Linda,  then,  was  comparatively  free  (for  Bob  Smith,  the 
linendraper,  and  young  Glauber,  the  apothecary,  went  for  nothing) ; 
and,  very  luckily  for  lier,  a  successor  was  found  for  the  faithless 
Frenchman,  almost  immediately. 

This  gentleman  was  a  commoner,  to  be  sure  ;  but  had  a  good 
estate  of  five  hundred  a  year,  kept  his  liorse  and  gig,  and  was,  as 
Mr.  Gann  remarked,  as  good  a  fellow  as  ever  lived.  Let  us  say 
at  once  that  the  new  lover  was  no  other  than  Mr.  Swigby.  From 
the  day  when  he  had  been  introduced  to  the  fiimily  he  appeared  to 
he  very  mucli  attracted  by  the  two  sisters ;  sent  a  turkey  off"  his 
own  farm,  and  six  bottles  of  prime  Hollands,  to  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Gann,  in  presents  ;  and,  in  ten  short  days  after  his  first  visit,  had 
informed  his  friend  Gann  that  he  was  violently  in  love  with  two 
women  whose  names  he  would  never — never  breathe.  The  wortliy 
Gann  knew  right  well  how  the  matter  was ;  for  he  had  not  failed  to 
remark  Swigliy's  melancholy,  and  to  attribute  it  to  its  right  cause. 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  49 

Swigby  was  fort.v-eight  years  of  age,  stout,  hearty,  gay,  much 
given  to  (hiuk,  and  liad  never  been  a  lady's  man,  or,  indeed,  ])assed 
half-a-dozen  evenings  in  ladies'  society.  He  thought  Gann  the 
noblest  and  finest  fellow  in  the  world.  He  never  heard  any  singing 
like  James's,  nor  any  jokes  like  his ;  nor  had  met  with  such  an 
accomplished  gentleman  or  man  of  the  world.  "  Gann  has  his 
faults,"  Swigby  would  say  at  the  "  Bag  of  Nails  "  ;  "  which  of  us 
has  not? — but  I  tell  you  what,  he's  the  greatest  trump  I  ever  see." 
Many  scores  of  scores  had  he  paid  for  Gann,  many  guineas  and 
crown-pieces  had  he  lent  him,  since  he  came  into  his  property  some 
three  years  before.  What  were  Swigby 's  former  pursuits  I  can't 
tell.  What  need  we  care  1  Hadn't  he  five  hundred  a  year  now, 
and  a  horse  and  gig  1     Ay,  that  he  had. 

Since  his  accession  to  fortune,  this  gay  young  bachelor  liad 
taken  his  share  (what  he  called  "  his  whack ")  of  pleasure  :  had 
been  at  one — nay,  perhaps,  at  two — public-houses  every  night ; 
and  had  been  tipsy,  I  make  no  doubt,  nearly  a  thousand  times  in 
the  course  of  the  three  years.  Many  people  had  tried  to  cheat 
him ;  but,  no,  no  !  lie  knew  what  was  what,  and  in  all  matters  of 
money  was  simple  and  shrewd.  Gann's  gentility  won  him ;  his 
bragging,  his  ton,  and  the  stylish  tuft  on  his  cliin.  To  be  invited 
to  his  house  was  a  proud  moment ;  and  when  he  went  away,  after 
the  banquet  described  in  the  last  chapter,  he  was  in  a  perfect 
ferment  of  love  and  liquor. 

"  What  a  stylish  woman  is  that  Mrs.  Gann  ! "  thought  he,  as 
he  tumbled  into  bed  at  his  inn;  "fine  she  must  have  been  as  a 
gal !  fourteen  stone  now,  without  saddle  or  bridle,  and  no  mistake. 
And  them  Miss  Macartys.  Jupiter !  what  spanking,  handsome, 
elegant  creatures  !  — real  elegance  in  both  on  'em.  Such  hair ! — 
black's  the  word — as  black  as  my  mare ;  such  cheeks,  such  necks, 
and  shoulders ! "  At  noon  he  repeated  these  observations  to 
Gann  himself,  as  he  walked  up  and  down  the  pier  with  that 
gentleman,  smoking  Manilla  cheroots.  He  was  in  raptures  with 
his  evening.  Gann  received  his  praises  with  much  majestic  good- 
humour. 

"  Blood,  sir  !  "  said  he,  "  blood's  everything  !  Them  gals  have 
been  brought  up  as  few  ever  have.  I  don't  speak  of  myself;  but 
their  mother — their  mother's  a  lady,  sir.  Show  me  a  woman  in 
England  as  is  better  bred  or  knows  the  world  more  than  my 
Juliana  ! " 

"  It's  irapawssible,"  said  Swigl)y. 

"  Think  of  the  company  we've  kep',  sir,  before  our  misfortimes 
— the  fust  in  the  land.  Brandenbin-g  House,  sir,-- England's 
injured  Queen.     Law  bless  you  !  Juliana  was  always  there." 


50  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

"  I  make  no  doubt,  sir ;  you  can  see  it  in  her,"  said  Swigby 
solemnly. 

"  And  as  for  those  gals,  why,  ain't  they  related  to  the  fust 
families  in  Ireland,  sir  1 — In  course  they  are.  As  I  said  before, 
blood's  everything ;  and  those  young  women  have  the  best  of  it : 
they  are  connected  with  the  reg'lar  old  noblesse." 

"  They  have  the  best  of  everythink,  I'm  sure,"  said  Swigby, 
"  and  deserve  it,  too,"  and  relapsed  into  his  morning  remarks. 
"What  creatures!  what  elegance!  what  hair  and  eyes,  sir! — 
black,  and  all's  black,  as  I  say.  What  complexion,  sir ! — ay,  and 
what  makes,  too  !     Such  a  neck  and  shoulders  I  never  see  !  " 

Gann,  who  had  \m>  hands  in  his  pockets  (his  friend's  arm  being 
hooked  into  one  of  his),  here  suddenly  withdrew  his  hand  from  its 
hiding-place,  clenched  his  fist,  assumed  a  horrible  knowing  grin, 
and  gave  Mr.  Swigby  such  a  blow  in  the  ribs  as  well-nigh  sent  him 
into  the  water.  "  You  sly  dog  !  "  said  Mr.  Gann,  with  inexpressible 
emphasis  ;  "  you've  found  that  out,  too,  have  you  1  Have  a  care, 
Joe  my  boy, — -have  a  care." 

And  herewith  Joe  and  Gann  burst  into  tremendous  roars  of 
laughter,  fresh  explosions  taking  place  at  intervals  of  five  minutes 
during  the  rest  of  the  walk.  The  two  friends  parted  exceedingly 
happy;  and  when  they  met  that  evening  at  "The  Nails,"  Gann 
drew  Swigby  mysteriously  into  the  bar,  and  thrust  into  his  hand 
a  triangular  piece  of  pink  paper,  which  the  latter  read  : — 

"  Mrs.  Gann  and  the  Misses  Macarty  request  the  honour  and 
pleasure  of  Mr.  Swigby's  company  (if  you  have  no  better  engage- 
ment) to  tea  to-morrow  evening,  at  half-past  five. 

"  Margaretta  Cottage,  Salamanca  Road  North: 
"  Tliursday  evening." 

The  faces  of  the  two  gentlemen  were  wonderfully  expressive  of 
satisfaction  as  this  communication  passed  between  them.  And  I 
am  led  to  believe  that  Mrs.  Gann  had  been  unusually  pleased  with 
her  husband's  conduct  on  that  day,  for  honest  James  had  no  less 
than  thirteen  and  sixpence  in  his  pocket,  and  insisted,  as  usual, 
upon  standing  glasses  all  round.  Joe  Swigby,  left  alone  in  tlie 
little  parlour  behind  the  bar,  called  for  a  sheet  of  paper,  a  new  pen, 
and  a  wafer,  and  in  the  space  of  half-an-hour  concocted  a  very 
spirited  and  satisfactory  answer  to  this  note ;  which  was  carried 
off  by  Gann,  and  duly  delivered.  Punctually  at  half-past  five  Mr. 
Joseph  Swigby  knocked  at  Margaretta  Cottage  door,  in  his  new  coat 
with  glistering  brass  buttons,  Ins  face  clean-shaved,  and  his  great 
ears  shining  over  his  great  shirt-collar  delightfully  bright  and  red. 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  51 

What  happened  at  this  tea-party  it  is  needless  here  to  say ; 
but  Swigby  came  away  from  it  quite  as  niucli  enchanted  as 
before,  and  declared  tliat  the  duets  sung  by  the  ladies  in  hideous 
discord,  were  the  sweetest  nuisic  he  had  over  heard.  He  sent 
the  gin  and  the  turkey  the  next  day  ;  and,  of  course,  was  in- 
vited to  dine. 

The  dinner  was  followed  up  on  his  i)art  by  an  offer  to  drive  all 
the  young  ladies  and  their  mamma  into  the  country ;  and  he  hired 
a  very  smart  barouche  to  conduct  them.  The  invitation  was  not 
declined  :  and  Fitch,  too,  was  asked  by  Mr.  Swigby,  in  the  height 
of  his  good-humour,  and  accepted  with  the  utmost  delight.  "  Me 
and  Joe  will  go  on  the  box,"  said  Gann.  "  You  four  ladies  and 
Mr.  Fitch  shall  go  inside.  Carry  must  go  bodkin ;  but  she  ain't 
very  big." 

"Carry,  indeed,  will  stop  at  home,"  said  her  mamma:  "she's 
not  fit  to  go  out." 

At  which  poor  Fitch's  jaw  fell ;  it  was  in  order  to  ride  with  her 
that  he  had  agreed  to  accompany  the  party  •  nor  could  he  escape 
now,  having  just  promised  so  eagerly. 

"  Oh,  don't  let's  have  that  i)roud  Brandon,"  said  the  young 
ladies,  when  the  good-natured  Mr.  Swigby  proposed  to  ask  that 
gentleman  ;  and  therefore  he  was  not  invited  to  join  them  in  their 
excursion  :  but  he  stayed  at  home  very  imconcernedly,  and  saw  the 
barouche  and  its  load  drive  off.  Somebody  else  looked  at  it  from 
the  parlour  window,  with  rather  a  heavy  heart,  and  that  some  one 
was  i)oor  Caroline.  The  day  was  bright  and  sunshiny  ;  tlu;  sjtring 
was  beginning  early  ;  it  would  have  been  j)leasant  to  have  been  a 
lady  for  once,  and  to  have  driven  along  in  a  carriage  with  prancing 
horses.  Mr.  Fitch  looked  after  her  in  a  very  sheepish  melancholy 
way ;  and  was  so  dismal  and  silly  during  the  first  part  of  the 
journey,  that  Miss  Linda,  who  was  next  to  him,  said  to  her  papa 
that  she  would  change  places  with  him  ;  and  actually  mounted  the 
box  by  the  side  of  the  hap])y  trembling  Mr.  Swigby.  How  proud 
he  was,  to  be  sure  !  How  knowingly  did  he  sj)ank  the  horses  along, 
and  fling  out  the  shillings  at  the  turnpikes  ! 

"  Bless  you,  he  don't  care  for  change  ! "  said  Gann,  as  one  of 
the  toll-takers  oftcred  to  render  some  coppers  ;  and  Joe  felt  infinitely 
obliged  to  his  friend  for  setting  (jff  his  aiiiial)l('  (pialitics  in  such  a 
way. 

0  mighty  Fate,  that  over  us  )nis('rable  mortals  rulcst  supreme, 
with  what  small  means  are  thy  ends  efiected  ! — with  what  scornful 
ease  and  mcaTi  instruments  <loes  it  ])lease  thee  to  govern  mankind  ! 
Let  each  man  think  of  the  circumstances  of  his  life,  and  how  its 
lot  has  been  determined.     The  getting  up  a  little  earlier  or  later, 


52  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

the  turning  down  tliis  street  or  that,  the  eating  of  this  dish  or  the 
other,  may  influence  all  the  years  and  actions  of  a  future  life.  Man- 
kind walks  down  the  left-hand  side  of  Eegent  Street  instead  of  the 
right,  and  meets  a  friend  who  asks  him  to  dinner,  and  goes,  and 
finds  the  turtle  remarkably  good,  and  the  iced  punch  very  cool  and 
pleasant ;  and,  being  in  a  merry,  jovial,  idle  mood,  has  no  objection 
to  a  social  rubber  of  whist — nay,  to  a  few  more  glasses  of  that 
cool  punch.  In  the  most  careless,  good-humoured  way  he  loses  a 
few  points ;  and  still  feels  thirsty,  and  loses  a  few  more  points ; 
and,  like  a  man  of  spirit,  increases  his  stakes,  to  be  sure,  and  just 
by  that  walk  down  Regent  Street  is  ruined  for  life.  Or  he  walks 
down  the  right-hand  side  of  Regent  Street  instead  of  the  left,  and, 
good  heavens  !  who  is  that  charming  young  creature  who  has  just 
stepped  into  her  carriage  from  Mr.  Eraser's  shop,  and  to  whom  and 
her  mamma  Mr.  Eraser  has  made  the  most  elegant  bow  in  the 
world?  It  is  the  lovely  Miss  Moidore,  with  a  hundred  thousand 
pounds,  who  has  remarked  your  elegant  figure,  and  regularly  drives 
to  town  on  the  first  of  the  month,  to  purchase  her  darling  Magazine. 
You  drive  after  her  as  fast  as  the  hack-cab  will  carry  you.  She 
reads  the  Magazine  the  whole  way.  She  stops  at  her  papa's 
elegant  villa  at  Hampstead,  with  a  conservatory,  a  double  coach- 
house, and  a  park-like  paddock.  As  the  lodge-gate  separates  you 
from  that  dear  girl,  she  looks  back  just  once,  and  blushes.  Erubuit, 
salva  est  res.  She  has  blushed,  and  you  are  all  right.  In  a  week 
you  are  introduced  to  the  family,  and  pronounced  a  charming  young 
fellow  of  high  principles.  In  three  weeks  you  have  danced  twenty- 
nine  quadrilles  with  her,  and  whisked  her  through  several  miles  of 
waltzes.  In  a  month  Mrs.  O'Flaherty  has  flung  herself  into  the 
arms  of  her  mother,  just  having  come  from  a  visit  to  the  village 
of  Gretna,  near  Carlisle ;  and  you  have  an  account  at  your  banker's 
ever  after.  What  is  the  cause  of  all  this  good  fortune  1 — a  walk  on 
a  particular  side  of  Regent  Street.  And  so  true  and  indisputable 
is  this  fact,  that  there's  a  young  north-country  gentleman  with 
whom  I  am  accjuainted,  that  daily  paces  up  and  down  the  above- 
named  street  for  many  hour.%  fully  expecting  that  such  an  adventure 
will  happen  to  him ;  for  which  end  he  keeps  a  cab  in  readiness  at 
the  corner  of  Vigo  Lane. 

Now,  after  a  dissertation  in  this  history,  the  reader  is  pretty 
sure  to  know  that  a  moral  is  coming ;  and  the  fiicts  connected  with 
our  tale,  whic;h  are  to  be  drawn  from  the  above  little  essay  on  fate, 
are  simply  these: — 1.  If  Mr.  Fitch  had  not  heard  Mr.  Swigby 
invite  all  the  ladies,  he  would  have  refused  Swigby's  invitation, 
and  stayed  at  home.  2.  If  he  had  not  been  in  the  carriage,  it  is 
quite   certain   that   Miss   Rosalind   Macarty  would   not   have  been 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       53 

seated  by  him  on  the  back  seat.  3.  If  he  had  not  been  sidky, 
she  never  would  have  asked  her  papa  to  let  her  take  his  place  on 
the  box.  4.  If  she  had  not  taken  her  papa's  place  on  the  box,  not 
one  of  the  circumstances  would  have  liappened  which  did  happen  ; 
and  which  were  as  follows  : — 

1.  Miss  Bella  remained  inside. 

2.  Mr.  Swigby,  who  was  wavering  between  the  two,  like  a 
certain  animal  between  two  bundles  of  hay,  was  determined  by  this 
circumstance,  and  made  proposals  to  Miss  Linda,  whispering  to 
Miss  Linda :  "  Miss,  I  ain't  equal  to  the  like  of  you ;  but  I'm 
hearty,  healthy,  and  have  five  hundred  a  year.  Will  you  marry 
me  ? "  In  fact,  this  very  speech  had  been  taught  him  by  cunning 
Gann,  who  saw  well  enough  that  Swigby  would  speak  to  one  or 
other  of  his  daughters.  And  to  it  the  young  lady  replied,  also 
in  a  whispering  agitated  tone,  "  Law,  Mr.  S.  !  What  an  odd 
man!  How  can  you*?"  And,  after  a  little  pause,  added,  "Speak 
to  manima." 

3.  (And  this  is  the  main  point  of  my  story.)  If  little  Caroline 
had  been  allowed  to  go  out,  she  never  would  have  been  left  alone 
with  Brandon  at  Margate.  AVlien  Fate  wills  that  something  should 
come  to  pass,  she  sends  forth  a  million  of  little  circumstances  to 
clear  and  prepare  the  way. 

In  the  month  of  April  (as  indeed  in  half-a-score  of  other  months 
of  the  year)  the  reader  may  have  remarked  that  the  cold  north-east 
wind  is  prevalent ;  and  that  when,  tempted  by  a  glimpse  of  sun- 
shine, he  issues  forth  to  take  the  air,  he  receives  not  only  it,  but 
such  a  quantity  of  it  as  is  enough  to  keep  him  shivering  through 
the  rest  of  the  miserable  month.  On  one  of  these  happy  days  of 
English  weather  (it  was  the  very  day  before  the  pleasure  i)arty 
described  in  a  former  chapter),  Mr.  Brandon,  cursing  heartily  his 
country,  and  tliinking  how  infinitely  more  congenial  to  him  wore 
the  winds  and  habits  prevalent  in  otlier  nations,  was  marching  over 
the  cliffs  near  Margate,  in  the  midst  of  a  storm  of  slirill  east  wind 
which  no  ordinary  mortal  could  bear,  when  he  found  perched  on 
the  cliff,  his  fingers  blue  with  cold,  the  celebrated  Andrea  Fitch, 
employed  in  sketching  a  land  or  a  sea  scape  on  a  sheet  of  grey 
paper. 

"  You  have  chosen  a  fine  day  for  sketching,"  said  Mr.  Brandon 
bitterly,  his  thin  aquiline  nose  peering  out  livid  from  the  fur 
collar  of  his  cout. 

Mr.  Fitch  smiled,  midcrstandiiig  the  allusion. 

"  An  hartist,  sir,"  saitl  he,  "  doesn't  mind  the  coldness  of  the 
weather.  There  was  a  chap  in  tlie  Academy  who  took  sketclics 
twenty  degrees  below  zero  in  lliceland     Mount  'Ecla,  sir!     A'  was 


54  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

the  man  that  gave  the  first  hidea  of  Mount  'Ecla  for  the  Surrey 
Zoological  Gardens." 

"  He  must  have  been  a  wonderful  enthusiast ! "  said  Mr. 
Brandon ;  "  I  fancy  that  most  would  prefer  to  sit  at  home,  and 
not  numb  their  fingers  in  such  a  freezing  storm  as  this  !  " 

"  Storm,  sir  ! "  replied  Fitch  majestically ;  "  I  live  in  a  storm, 
sir !  A  true  hartist  is  never  so  'appy  as  when  he  can  have  the 
advantage  to  gaze  upon  yonder  tempestuous  hocean  in  one  of  its 
hangry  moods." 

"  Ay,  there  comes  the  steamer,"  answered  Mr.  Brandon ;  "I 
can  fancy  that  there  are  a  score  of  unhappy  people  on  board  who 
are  not  artists,  and  would  wish  to  behold  your  ocean  quiet." 

"  They  are  not  poets,  sir :  the  glorious  hever-changing  expres- 
sion of  the  great  countenance  of  Nature  is  not  seen  by  them.  I 
should  consider  myself  unworthy  of  my  hart,  if  I  could  not  bear 
a  little  privation  of  cold  or  'eat  for  its  sake.  And  besides, '  sir, 
whatever  their  hardships  may  be,  such  a  sight  hamply  repays  me ; 
for,  although  my  private  sorrows  may  be  (has  they  are)  tremendous, 
I  never  can  look  abroad  upon  the  green  hearth  and  hawful  sea, 
without  in  a  measure  forgetting  my  personal  woes  and  wrongs; 
for  what  right  has  a  poor  creature  like  me  to  think  of  his  atfairs 
in  the  presence  of  such  a  spectacle  as  this  1  I  can't,  sir ;  I  feel 
ashamed  of  myself;  I  bow  my  'ead  and  am  quiet.  When  I  set 
myself  to  examining  liart,  sir  (by  which  I  mean  nature),  I  don't 
dare  to  think  of  anything  else." 

"  You  worship  a  very  charming  and  consoling  mistress,"  answered 
Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  supercilious  air,  lighting  and  beginning  to 
smoke  a  cigar;  "your  enthusiasm  does  you  credit." 

"  If  you  have  another,"  said  Andrea  Fitch,  "I  should  like  to 
smoke  one,  for  you  seem  to  have  a  real  feeling  about  hart,  and  I 
was  a-getting  so  deucedly  cold  here,  that  really  there  was  scarcely 
any  bearing  of  it." 

"  The  cold  is  very  severe,"  replied  Mr.  Brandon. 

"  No,  no,  it's  not  the  weather,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Fitch ;  "  it's 
here,  sir,  here  "  (pointing  to  the  left  side  of  his  waistcoat). 

"  What !  you,  too,  have  had  sorrows  1 " 

"  Sorrows,  sir !  hagonies — hagonies,  which  I  have  never  un- 
folded to  any  mortal !  I  have  hendured  halmost  hevery  thing. 
Poverty,  sir,  'unger,  hobloquy,  'opeless  love  !  but  for  my  hart,  sir, 
I  should  be  the  most  miserable  wretch  in  the  world  ! " 

And  herewith  Mr.  Fitcli  began  to  pour  forth  into  Mr.  Brandon's 
ears  the  history  of  some  of  those  sorrows  under  which  he  laboured, 
and  which  he  communicated  to  every  single  person  who  would 
listen  to  him. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       55 

Mr.  Brandon  was  greatly  amused  by  Fitch's  prattle,  and  the 
latter  tolil  him  under  what  i)rivations  he  had  studied  his  art :  how 
he  had  starved  for  three  years  in  Paris  and  Rome,  while  labouring 
at  his  profession ;  how  meanly  jealous  the  Royal  Academy  was 
which  would  never  exhibit  a  single  one  of  his  pictures ;  how  he 
had  been  driven  from  the  Heternal  City  by  the  attentions  of  an 
immense  fat  Mrs.  Carriekfergus,  who  absolutely  proposed  marriage 
to  him ;  and  how  he  was  at  this  moment  (a  fact  of  whicli  Mr. 
Brandon  was  already  quite  aware)  madly  and  desperately  in  love 
with  one  of  the  most  beautiful  maidens  in  this  world.  For  Fitch, 
having  a  mistress  to  his  heart's  desire,  was  boiling  with  impatience 
to  have  a  confidant ;  what,  indeed,  would  be  the  joy  of  love,  if  one 
were  not  allowed  to  speak  of  one's  feelings  to  a  friend  who  could 
know  how  to  synipathise  with  them  1  Fitch  was  sure  Brandon 
did,  because  Brandon  was  the  very  first  person  with  whom  the 
painter  had  talked  since  he  had  come  to  the  resolution  recorded  in 
the  last  chapter. 

"  I  hope  she  is  as  rich  as  that  unlucky  Mrs.  Carriekfergus, 
whom  you  treated  so  cruelly  1 "  said  the  confidant,  affecting  entire 
ignorance. 

"  Rich,  sir  1  no,  I  thank  Heaven,  she  has  not  a  penny  !  "  said 
Fitch. 

"  I  presume,  then,  you  are  yourself  independent,"  said  Brandon, 
smiling  ;  "  for  in  the  marriage  state,  one  or  the  other  of  the  parties 
concerned  should  bring  a  portion  of  the  filthy  lucre." 

"  Haven't  I  ray  i)rofession,  sir  1 "  said  Fitch  majestically,  having 
declared  five  minutes  before  that  he  starved  in  his  profession.  "  i)o 
you  suppose  a  painter  gets  nothing  ?  Haven't  I  borders  from  the 
first  people  in  Europe  ?— commissions,  sir,  to  hexecute  'istory-pieces, 
battle-pieces,  haltar-pieces  ? " 

"  Master-pieces,  I  am  sure,"  said  Brandon,  bowing  politely ; 
"for  a  gentleman  of  your  astonishing  genius  can  do  no  other." 

The  delighted  artist  received  this  conii)linu'nt  with  many  blushes, 
and  vowed  and  protested  that  his  performances  were  not  really 
worthy  of  such  high  i)raise  ;  but  he  fancied  Mr.  Brandon  a  great 
connoisseur,  nevertheless,  and  un])urdcned  his  mind  to  him  in  a 
manner  still  more  open.  Fitch's  sketch  was  by  tliis  time  finished ; 
and,  putting  his  drawing  implements  together,  he  rose,  and  the 
gentlemen  walked  away.  The  sketch  was  hugely  admired  by  ]\Ir. 
Brandon,  and  wlien  they  came  home,  P^'itch,  culling  it  dexterously 
out  of  his  book,  presented  it  in  a  neat  speech  to  his  friend,  "  the 
gifted  hamateur." 

"  The  gifted  hamateur "  received  tlie  drawing  witli  a  profusion 
of  thanks,   and   so    nuich  <lid    he  value    it,    that    he    had   actually 


56  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

torn  off  a  piece  to  light  a  cigar  with,  when  he  saw  that  words 
were  written  on  the  other  side  of  the  paper,  and  deciphered  the 
following : — 

"SONG   OF   THE   VIOLET. 

"  A  humble  flower  long  time  I  pined 

Upon  the  solitary  plain, 
And  trembled  at  the  angry  wind, 

And  shrunk  before  the  bitter  rain. 
And,  oh  I  'twas  in  a  blessed  hour, 

A  passing  wanderer  chanced  to  see 
And,  pitying  the  lonely  flower, 

To  stoop  and  gather  me. 

I  fear  no  more  the  tempest  rude, 

On  dreary  heath  no  more  I  pine, 
But  left  my  cheerless  solitude 

To  deck  the  breast  of  Caroline. 
Alas  !  our  days  are  brief  at  best. 

Nor  long  I  fear  will  mine  endure, 
Though  shelter'd  here  upon  a  breast 

So  gentle  and  so  pure. 

It  draws  the  fragrance  from  my  leaves, 

It  robs  me  of  my  sweetest  breath  ; 
And  every  time  it  falls  and  heaves, 

It  warns  me  of  my  coming  death. 
But  one  I  know  would  glad  forego 

All  joys  of  life  to  be  as  I  ; 
An  hour  to  rest  on  that  sweet  breast, 

And  then,  contented,  die. 

"Andrea." 

When  Mr.  Brandon  had  finished  the  perusal  of  these  verses,  he 
laid  them  down  with  an  air  of  considerable  vexation.  "  Egad !  " 
said  he,  "  this  fellow,  fool  as  he  is,  is  not  so  great  a  fool  as  he 
seems ;  and  if  he  goes  on  this  way,  may  finish  by  turning  the  girl's 
head.  They  can't  resist  a  man  if  he  but  presses  hard  enough — I 
know  they  can't !  "  And  here  Mr.  Brandon  mused  over  his  various 
experience,  which  confirmed  his  observation,  that  be  a  man  ever  so 
silly,  a  gentlewoman  will  yield  to  liim  out  of  sheer  weariness.  And 
he  thouglit  of  several  cases  in  which,  by  the  persevering  application 
of  copies  of  verses,  young  ladies  had  been  brought  from  dislike  to 
sufferance  of  a  man,  from  sufferance  to  partiality,  and  from  partiality 
to  St.  George's,  Hanover  Square.  "  A  ruffian  who  murders  his  h's 
to  carry  oft'  such  a  delicate  little  creature  as  that  ! "  cried  he  in  a 
transport :   "  it  shall  never  be  if  I  can  prevent  it !  "     He  thought 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  57 

Caroline  more  and  more  beautiful  every  instant,  and  was  himself  by 
this  time  almost  as  nnich  in  love  Avitli  her  as  Fitch  himself. 

Mr.  Brandon,  then,  saw  Fitch  depart  in  Swigby's  carriage  with 
no  ordinary  feelings  of  pleasure.  Miss  Caroline  was  not  with  them, 
"  Now  is  my  time  ! "  thought  Brandon ;  and,  ringing  the  bell,  he 
inquired  with  some  anxiety,  from  Becky,  where  Miss  Caroline  was? 
It  must  be  confessed  that  mistress  and  maid  were  at  their  usual 
occupation,  working  and  reading  novels  in  tlie  back  parlour.  Poor 
Carry  !  what  other  pleasure  had  she  1 

She  had  not  gone  through  many  pages,  or  Becky  advanced 
many  stitches  in  the  darning  of  that  tablecloth  which  the  good 
housewife,  Mrs.  Gann,  had  confided  to  her  charge,  when  an  huml)le 
knock  was  heard  at  the  door  of  the  sitting-room,  that  caused  the 
blushing  Caroline  to  tremble  and  drop  her  book,  as  I\Iiss  Lydia 
Languish  does  in  the  play. 

Mr.  George  Brandon  entered  with  a  very  demure  air.  He  held 
in  his  hand  a  black  satin  neck-scarf,  of  wliicli  a  part  had  come  to 
be  broken.  He  could  not  wear  it  in  its  present  condition,  that  was 
evident ;  but  Miss  Caroline  was  blushing  and  trembling  a  great  deal 
too  much  to  suspect  that  this  wicked  Brandon  had  himself  torn  his 
own  scarf  with  his  own  hands  one  moment  before  he  entered  the 
room.  I  don't  know  wliether  Becky  had  any  suspicions  of  this  fact, 
or  whether  it  was  only  the  ordinary  roguish  look  which  she  had 
when  anytliing  pleased  her,  that  now  lighted  up  her  eyes  and  caused 
her  mouth  to  expand  smilingly,  and  her  fat  red  cheeks  to  gather  up 
into  wrinkles. 

"  I  have  liad  a  sad  misfortune,"  said  he,  "  and  should  be  very 
much  obliged  indeed  to  Miss  Caroline  to  repair  it.  (Caroline  was 
said  with  a  kind  of  tender  hesitation  that  caused  the  young  woman, 
so  named,  to  blush  more  than  ever.)  "  It  is  the  only  stock  I  have 
in  the  world,  and  I  can't  go  barenecked  into  the  streets ;  can  I, 
Mrs.  Becky  1 " 

"  No,  sure,"  said  Becky. 

"  Not  unless  I  was  a  celebrated  painter,  like  Mr.  Fitcli,"  added 
Mr.  Brandon,  with  a  smile,  which  was  reflected  si)eedi]y  upon  the 
face  of  the  lady  whom  he  wished  to  interest.  "  Those  great  geni- 
uses," he  added,  "  may  do  anything." 

"For,"  says  Becky,  "  hee's  got  enough  beard  on  hees  faze  to 
keep  hees  neck  warm  !  "  At  which  remark,  thougli  Miss  Caroline 
very  properly  said,  "For  shame,  Becky!"  Mr.  Brandon  was  so 
convulsed  with  laughter,  that  he  fairly  fell  down  upon  the  sofa  on 
which  Miss  Caroline  was  seated.  How  she  started  and  trembled, 
as  he  flung  his  arm  upon  the  back  of  the  couch  !  Mr.  Brandon  did 
not  attempt  to  apologise  for  what  wns  an  act  of  considerable  im- 


58        A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY 

pertinence,  but  continued  mercilessly  to  make  many  more  jokes 
concerning  poor  Fitch,  which  were  so  cleverly  suited  to  the  compre- 
hension of  the  maid  and  the  young  mistress,  as  to  elicit  a  great 
number  of  roars  of  laughter  from  the  one,  and  to  cause  the  other  to 
smile  in  spite  of  herself.  Indeed,  Brandon  had  gained  a  vast  repu- 
tation with  Becky  in  his  morning  colloquies  with  her,  and  she  was 
ready  to  laugh  at  any  single  word  which  it  pleased  him  to  utter. 
How  many  of  his  good  things  had  this  honest  scullion  carried  down- 
stairs to  Caroline  1  and  how  pitilessly  had  she  contrived  to  estropier 
them  in  their  passage  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  kitchen  1 

Well,  then,  while  Mr.  Brandon  "  was  a-going  on,"  as  Becky 
said,  Caroline  had  taken  his  stock,  and  her  little  fingers  were 
occupied  in  repairing  the  damage  he  had  done  to  it.  Was  it 
clumsiness  on  her  part?  Certain  it  is  that  the  rent  took  several 
minutes  to  repair  :  of  them  the  mangeur  de  coeurs  did  not  fail  to 
profit,  conversing  in  an  easy,  kindly,  confidential  way,  which  set 
our  fluttering  heroine  speedily  at  rest,  and  enabled  her  to  reply  to 
his  continual  queries,  addressed  with  much  adroitness  and  an  air  of 
fraternal  interest,  by  a  number  of  those  pretty  little  timid  whisper- 
ing yeses  and  noes,  and  those  gentle  quick  looks  of  the  eyes,  where- 
with young  and  modest  maidens  are  wont  to  reply  to  the  questions 
of  seducing  young  bachelors.  Dear  yeses  and  noes,  how  beautiful 
you  are  when  gently  whispered  by  pretty  lips  ! — glances  of  quick 
innocent  eyes,  how  charming  are  you  ! — and  how  charming  the  soft 
blush  that  steals  over  the  cheek,  towards  which  the  dark  lashes  are 
drawing  the  blue-veined  eyelids  down.  And  here  let  the  writer  of 
this  solemnly  declare,  upon  his  veracity,  that  he  means  nothing  but 
what  is  right  and  moral.  But  look,  I  pray  you,  at  an  innocent 
bashful  girl  of  sixteen  :  if  she  be  but  good,  she  must  be  pretty. 
She  is  a  woman  now,  but  a  girl  still.  How  delightful  all  her  ways 
are  !  How  exquisite  her  instinctive  grace  !  All  the  arts  of  all  the 
Cleopatras  are  not  so  captivating  as  her  nature.  Who  can  resist 
her  confiding  simplicity,  or  fail  to  be  touched  and  conquered  by  her 
gentle  appeal  to  protection  1 

All  this  Mr.  Brandon  saw  and  felt,  as  many  a  gentleman 
educated  in  this  school  will.  It  is  not  because  a  man  is  a  rascal 
himself,  that  he  cannot  appreciate  virtue  and  purity  very  keenly ; 
and  our  hero  did  feel  for  this  simple,  gentle,  tender,  artless  creature 
a  real  respect  and  sympathy — a  sympathy  so  fresli  and  delicious, 
that  he  was  but  too  glad  to  yield  to  it  and  indulge  in  it,  and  which 
he  mistook,  probably,  for  a  real  love  of  virtue,  and  a  return  to  the 
days  of  liis  innocence. 

Indeed,  Mr.  Brandon,  it  was  no  such  thing.  It  was  only 
because  vice  and  debauch  were  stale  for  the  moment,  and  this 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  59 

pretty  virtue  new.  It  was  only  because  your  cloyed  appetite  was 
long  unused  to  tliis  simple  meat  that  you  felt  so  keen  a  relish  for 
it ;  and  I  thouglit  of  you  only  tlie  last  blessed  Saturday,  at  Mr. 
Lovegrove's,  "West  India  Tavern,"  Blackwall,  where  a  company  of 
fifteen  epicures,  who  had  scorned  the  turtle,  pooh-poohed  the  punch, 
and  sent  away  the  wliitebait,  did  suddenly  and  simultaneously  make 
a  rush  upon — a  dish  of  beans  and  bacon.  And  if  the  assiduous 
reader  of  novels  will  think  upon  soine  of  the  most  celebrated  works 
of"  that  species,  whicli  have  lately  appeared  in  this  and  other 
countries,  he  will  find,  amidst  much  debauch  of  sentiment  and 
enervating  dissipation  of  intellect,  that  tlie  writers  have  from  time 
to  time  a  returning  ap])etite  for  innocence  and  freshness,  and  in- 
dulge us  with  occasional  repasts  of  lieans  and  bacon.  How  long 
Mr.  Brandon  remained  by  Miss  Caroline's  side  I  have  no  means  of 
judging ;  it  is  probable,  however,  that  he  stayed  a  much  longer 
time  than  was  necessary  for  the  mending  of  his  black  satin  stock. 
I  believe,  indeed,  that  he  read  to  the  ladies  a  great  part  of  the 
"  Mysteries  of  Udolpho,"  over  which  they  were  engaged ;  and 
interspersed  his  reading  with  many  remarks  of  his  own,  both  tender 
and  satirical.  Whether  he  was  in  her  company  half-an-hour  or  four 
hours,  this  is  certain,  that  the  time  slipi)ed  away  very  swiftly  witli 
poor  Caroline  ;  and  when  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door,  and  slirill 
voices  were  lieard  crying,  "  Becky  ! "  "  Carry  !  "  and  Rebecca  the 
maid  starting  up,  cried,  "  Lor'^  here's  missus  !  "  and  Brandon  jumped 
ratlier  suddenly  off"  tlie  sofa,  and  ficd  up  the  stairs — when  all  these 
events  took  place,  I  know  Caroline  felt  very  sad  indeed,  and  opened 
the  door  for  her  parents  with  a  very  heavy  heart. 

Swigby  helped  Miss  Linda  off"  the  box  with  excessive  tender- 
ness. Papa  was  bustling  and  roaring  in  high  good-humour,  and 
called  for  ''hot  water  and  tumblers  immediately."  Mrs.  Gann 
was  gracious ;  and  Miss  Bell  sulky,  as  she  had  good  reason  to  be, 
for  she  insisted  ui)on  taking  the  front  seat  in  the  carriage  before 
her  sister,  and  had  lost  a  husband  by  that  very  piece  of  obstinacy. 

Mr.  Fitch,  as  he  entered,  bestowed  upon  Caroline  a  heavy  sigh 
and  a  deep  stare,  and  silently  ascended  to  his  own  apartment.  He 
was  lost  in  thouglit.  The  fact  is,  he  was  trying  to  remember  some 
verses  regarding  a  violet,  which  he  had  made  five  years  before,  and 
which  he  had  somehow  lost  from  among  his  papers.  So  he  went 
upstairs,  muttering, 

"  A  humble  flower  lont;'  since  I  piriuii 
Upon  a  solitary  plain " 


CHAPTER  VI 

DESCRIBES  A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  MARRIAGE,   AND  MORE 
LOVE-MAKING 

IT  will  not  be  necessary  to  describe  the  ijarticulars  of  the 
festivities  which  took  place  on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Swigby's 
marria,<,'e  to  Miss  Macarty.  The  happy  pair  went  off  in  a  post- 
chaise  and  four  to  the  bridegroom's  country-seat,  accompanied  by 
the  bride's  blushing  sister  :  and  when  the  first  week  of  theu'  matri- 
monial bliss  was  ended,  that  worthy  woman,  Mrs.  Gann,  with 
her  excellent  husband,  went  to  visit  the  young  couple.  Miss 
Caroline  was  left,  therefore,  sole  mistress  of  the  house,  and  received 
especial  cautions  from  her  mamma  as  to  prudence,  economy,  the 
proper  management  of  the  lodgers'  bills,  and  the  necessity  of  staying 
at  home. 

Considering  that  one  of  the  gentlemen  remaining  in  the  house 
was  a  declared  lover  of  Miss  Caroline,  I  think  it  is  a  little  surprising 
that  her  mother  should  leave  her  unprotected ;  but  in  this  matter 
the  poor  are  not  so  particular  as  the  rich ;  and  so  this  young  lady 
was  consigned  to  the  guardianship  of  her  own  innocence,  and  the 
lodgers'  loyalty :  nor  was  there  any  reason  why  Mrs.  Gann  should 
doubt  the  latter.  As  for  Mr.  Fitch,  he  would  have  far  preferred 
to  be  torn  to  pieces  by  ten  thousand  wild  horses,  rather  than  to 
ofter  to  the  young  woman  any  unkindness  or  insult ;  and  how  was 
Mrs.  Gann  to  suppose  that  her  other  lodger  was  a  whit  less  loyal  1 
that  he  had  any  partiality  for  a  person  of  whom  he  always  spoke 
as  a  mean  insignificant  little  baby?  So,  Avithout  any  misgivings, 
and  in  a  one-horse  fly  with  Mr.  Gann  by  her  side  with  a  bran  new 
green  coat  and  gilt  buttons,  Juliana  Gann  went  forth  to  visit  her 
beloved  child,  and  console  her  in  her  married  state. 

And  here,  were  I  allowed  to  occupy  the  reader  with  extraneous 
raattei's,  I  could  give  a  very  curious  and  touching  picture  of  the 
Swigby  meruKje.  Mrs.  S.,  I  am  very  sorry  to  say,  quarrelled  with 
her  husband  on  the  third  day  after  their  marriage, — and  for  what, 
pr'thee  1  Why,  because  he  would  smoke,  and  no  gentleman  ought 
to  smoke.  Swigby,  therefore,  patiently  resigned  his  pipe,  and 
with  it   one  of  the  quietest,  happiest,  kindest  companions  of  his 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY        6l 

solitude.  He  was  a  diff'ereiit  man  after  this ;  liis  ])ij)e  Avas  as  a 
limb  of  his  body.  Having  on  Tuesday  conquered  the  pipe,  Mrs, 
Swigby  on  Thursday  did  battle  witli  her  husband's  rum-and-water, 
a  drink  of  an  odious  smell,  as  she  very  properly  observed ;  and  the 
smell  was  doubly  odious,  now  that  the  tobacco  smoke  no  longer 
perfumed  the  parlour  breeze,  and  counteracted  the  odours  of  the 
juice  of  West  India  sugar-canes.  On  Tliursday,  then,  Mr.  Swigliy 
and  rum  held  out  pretty  bravely.  Mrs.  S.  attacked  the  punch 
with  some  sharp-shooting,  and  fierce  charges  of  vulgarity ;  to  which 
S.  replied,  by  opening  the  battery  of  oaths  (cliiefly  directed  to  his 
own  eyes,  however),  and  loud  protestations  that  he  would  never 
surrender.  In  three  days  more,  however,  the  rum-and-water  was 
gone.  Mr.  Swigby,  defeated  and  prostrate,  had  given  up  that 
stronghold ;  his  young  wife  and  sister  were  triumphant  ;  and  his 
poor  mother,  who  occupied  her  son's  house,  and  had  till  now  taken 
her  place  at  the  head  of  his  table,  saw  that  her  empire  was  for 
ever  lost,  and  was  preparing  suddenly  to  succumb  to  the  imperious 
claims  of  the  mistress  of  the  mansion. 

All  this,  I  say,  I  wish  I  had  the  liberty  to  describe  at  large, 
as  also  to  narrate  the  arrival  of  majestic  Mrs.  Gann  ;  an<l  a  battle- 
royal  which  speedily  took  place  between  the  two  worthy  mothers- 
in-law.  Noble  is  the  hatred  of  ladies  who  stand  in  this  relation 
to  each  other ;  each  sees  what  injury  the  other  is  inflicting  upon 
her  darling  child ;  each  mistrusts,  detests,  and  to  her  offspring 
privily  abuses  the  arts  and  crimes  of  the  other.  A  house  Avith  a 
wife  is  often  warm  enough ;  a  house  with  a  wife  and  her  mother 
is  rather  warmer  than  any  spot  on  the  known  globe ;  a  house  with 
two  mothers-in-law  is  so  excessively  hot,  that  it  can  be  likened  to 
no  place  on  earth  at  all,  but  one  must  go  lower  for  a  simile.  Thiidv 
of  a  wife  who  despises  her  husband,  and  teaches  him  manners  : 
of  an  elegant  sister,  who  joins  in  rallying  him  (this  was  almost  the 
only  point  of  imion  between  Bella  and  Linda  now,- — for  since  the 
marriage,  Linda  hated  her  sister  consumedly).  Think,  I  say,  of 
two  mothers-in-law, — one  large,  pompous,  and  atrociously  genteel, 
— another  coarse  and  shrill,  determined  not  to  have  her  son  put 
upon, — and  you  may  see  what  a  happy  fellow  Joe  Swigby  was, 
and  into  what  a  piece  of  good  luck  he  had  fallen. 

What  would  have  become  of  him  without  his  ftither-in-law  ? 
Indeed  one  shudders  to  think;  but  the  consequence  of  that  gentle- 
man's arrival  and  intervention  was  speedily  this: — About  four 
o'clock,  when  the  dinner  was  removed,  and  the  quarrelling  used 
commonly  to  set  in,  the  two  gents  took  tlieir  hats,  and  sallied  out ; 
and  as  one  has  found  when  the  body  is  inflamed  that  the  ajjplication 
of  a  stringent  medicine  may  cause  tiie  ill  to  disai)])ear  for  n  while, 


62  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

only  to  return  elsewhere  with  greater  force ;  in  lilce  manner,  Mrs. 
Swigby's  sudden  victory  over  the  pipe  and  rum-and-water,  although 
it  had  caused  a  temporary  cessation  of  the  evil  of  which  she  com- 
plained, was  quite  unable  to  stop  it  altogether ;  it  disappeared  from 
one  spot  only  to  rage  with  more  violence  elsewhere.  In  Swigby's 
parlour,  rum  and  tobacco  odours  rose  no  more  (except,  indeed,  when 
Mrs.  Gann  would  partake  of  the  former  as  a  restorative) ;  but  if 
you  could  have  seen  the  "  Half-Moon  and  Snuffers "  down  the 
village  ;  if  you  could  have  seen  the  good  dry  skittle-ground  which 
stretched  at  the  back  of  that  inn,  and  the  window  of  the  back 
parlour  which  superintended  that  skittle-ground ;  if  the  hour  at 
which  you  beheld  these  objects  was  evening,  what  time  the 
rustics  from  their  toils  released,  trolled  the  stout  ball  amidst  the 
rattling  pins  (the  oaken  pins  that  standing  in  the  sun  did  cast  long 
shadows  on  the  golden  sward) ;  if  you  had  remarked  all  this,  I  say, 
you  would  have  also  seen  in  the  back  parlour  a  tallow  candle  twink- 
ling in  the  shade,  and  standing  on  a  little  greasy  table.  Upon  the 
greasy  table  was  a  pewter  porter-pot,  and  to  the  left  a  teaspoon 
glittering  in  a  glass  of  gin  ;  close  to  each  of  these  two  delicacies  was 
a  pipe  of  tobacco  ;  and  behind  the  pipes  sat  Mr.  Gann  and  Mr. 
Swigby,  who  now  made  the  "  Half-Moon  and  Snuffers  "  their  usual 
place  of  resort,  and  forgot  their  married  cares. 

In  spite  of  all  our  promises  of  brevity,  these  things  have  taken 
some  space  to  describe ;  and  the  reader  must  also  know  that  some 
short  interval  elapsed  ere  tliey  occurred.  A  month  at  least  passed 
away  before  Mr.  Swigby  had  decidedly  taken  up  his  position  at  the 
little  inn ;  all  this  time,  Gann  was  staying  with  his  son-in-law,  at 
the  latter's  most  earnest  request ;  and  Mrs.  Gann  remained  under 
the  same  roof  at  her  own  desire.  Not  the  hints  of  her  daughter, 
nor  the  broad  questions  of  the  dowager  Mrs.  Swigby,  could  induce 
honest  Mrs.  Gann  to  stir  from  her  quarters.  She  had  had  her 
lodgers'  money  in  advance,  as  was  tlie  worthy  woman's  custom ;  she 
knew  Margate  in  April  was  dreadfully  dull,  and  she  determined  to 
enjoy  the  country  until  the  jovial  town  season  arrived.  Tiie  Canter- 
bury coachman,  whom  Gann  knew,  and  who  passed  through  the 
village,  used  to  take  her  cargo  of  novels  to  and  fro  ;  and  the  old 
lady  made  herself  as  happy  as  circumstances  would  allow.  Should 
anything  of  importance  occur  during  her  maxima's  absence,  Caroline 
was  to  make  use  of  the  same  conveyance,  and  inform  Mrs.  Gann 
in  a  letter. 

Miss  Caroline  looked  at  her  papa  and  mamma,  as  the  vehicle 
which  was  to  bear  them  to  the  newly  married  couple  moved  up  the 
street ;  but,  strange  to  say,  she  did  not  feel  that  heaviness  of  heart 
which  she  before  had  experienced  when  forbidden  to  share  the  festi- 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       63 

vities  of  her  family,  but  was  on  this  occasion  more  happy  tlian  any 
one  of  them, — so  ha])py,  that  the  young  woman  felt  quite  a.shamed 
of  herself;  and  Becky  was  fain  to  remark  how  her  mistress's  cheek 
flushed,  and  her  eyes  si)arkled  (and  turned  perpetually  to  the  door), 
and  her  whole  little  frame  was  in  a  flutter. 

"  I  wonder  if  he  will  come,"  said  the  little  heart ;  and  the  eyes 
turned  and  looked  at  that  well-known  sofa  corner,  where  he  had 
been  placed  a  fortnight  before.  He  looked  exactly  like  Lord  Byron, 
that  he  did,  with  his  pale  brow,  and  his  slim  bare  neck  ;  only  not 

half  so  wicked — no,  no.     She  was  sure  that  her — her  Mr.  B- , 

her  Bran — ,  her  George,  was  as  good  as  he  was  beautiful.  Don't  let 
us  be  angry  with  her  for  calling  him  George ;  the  girl  was  bred  in 
an  humble  sentimental  school ;  she  did  not  know  enough  of  society 
to  be  squeamish;  she  never  thought  that  she  could  be  his  really, 
and  gave  way  in  the  silence  of  her  fancy  to  the  full  extent  of  her 
affection  for  him. 

She  had  not  looked  at  the  door  above  twenty-five  times — that  is 
to  say,  her  parents  had  not  quitted  the  house  ten  minutes — when, 
sure  enough,  the  latch  did  rattle,  the  door  opened,  and,  with  a  faint 
blush  on  his  cheek,  divine  George  entered.  He  was  going  to  make 
some  excuse,  as  on  the  former  occasion;  but  he  looked  first  into 
Caroline's  face,  which  was  beaming  with  joy  and  smiles ;  and  the 
little  thing,  in  return,  regarded  him,  and — made  room  for  him  on 
the  sofa.  0  sweet  instinct  of  love !  Brandon  had  no  need  of 
excuses,  but  sate  down,  and  talked  away  as  easily,  happily,  and 
confidentially,  and  neither  took  any  note  of  time.  Andrea  Fitch 
(the  sly  dog  !)  witnessed  the  Gann  departure  with  feelings  of  exulta- 
tion, and  had  laid  some  deep  plans  of  his  own  with  regard  to  Miss 
Caroline.  So  strong  was  his  confidence  in  his  friend  on  the  first 
floor,  that  Andrea  actually  descended  to  those  apartments,  on  his 
way  to  Mrs.  Gann's  ])arloui',  in  order  to  consult  Mr.  Brandon,  and 
make  known  to  him  his  i)lan  of  o})erations. 

It  would  have  made  your  heart  break,  or,  at  the  very  least,  your 
sides  ache,  to  behold  the  countenance  of  poor  Mr.  Fitch,  as  lie  thrust 
his  bearded  head  in  at  tlie  door  of  the  i)arlour.  There  was  liJrandon 
lolling  on  the  sofa,  at  his  ease  ;  Becky  in  full  good-humour ;  and 
Caroline,  always  absurdly  inclined  to  blush,  blushing  at  J'itch's 
ai)i)earance  more  than  ever  !  She  could  not  help  looking  from  him 
slily  and  gently  into  the  face  of  Mr.  Brandon.  That  gentleman  saw 
the  look,  and  did  not  fail  to  interj)ret  it.  It  was  a  confession  of 
love — an  appeal  for  protection.  A  tlirill  of  delightful  vanity  shot 
through  Brandon's  frame,  and  made  his  heart  throb,  as  he  noticed 
this  look  of  poor  Caroline.  He  answered  it  with  one  of  his  own  that 
was    cruelly    wrong,    cruelly    triumphant;    and    sarcastic ;    and    he 


64  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

shouted  out  to  Mr.  Fitch,  with  a  loud  disconcerting  tone,  which  only 
made  that  young  painter  feel  more  awkward  than  ever  he  had  been. 
Fitch  made  some  clumsy  speech  regarding  his  dinner, — whether  that 
meal  was  to  be  held,  in  the  absence  of  the  parents,  at  the  usual 
hour,  and  then  took  his  leave. 

The  ])oor  fellow  had  been  pleasing  himself  with  the  notion  of 
taking  tliis  daily  meal  tete-a-tete  with  Caroline.  What  progress 
would  he  make  in  her  heart  during  the  absence  of  lier  parents  ! 
Did  it  not  seem  as  if  the  first  marriage  had  been  arranged  on  purpose 
to  facilitate  his  own  *?  He  determined  thus  his  plan  of  campaign. 
He  would  make,  in  the  first  place,  the  most  beautiful  drawing  of 
Caroline  that  ever  was  seen.  "  The  conversations  I'll  'ave  with 
her  during  the  sittings,"  says  he,  "  will  carry  me  a  pretty  long  way  ; 
the  drawing  itself  will  be  so  beautiful,  that  she  can't  resist  that. 
I'll  write  her  verses  in  her  halbum,  and  make  designs  hallusive  of 
my  passion  for  her."  And  so  our  pictorial  Alnaschar  dreamed 
and  dreamed.  He  had,  ere  long,  established  himself  in  a  house  in 
Newman  Street,  with  a  footman  to  open  the  door.  Caroline  was 
upstairs,  his  wife,  and  lier  picture  the  crack  portrait  of  tlie  Exhibi- 
tion. With  her  by  his  side,  Andrea  Fitch  felt  he  could  do  anything. 
Half-a-dozen  carriages  at  his  door, — a  hundred  guineas  for  a  Kit-Cat 
portrait.  Lady  Fitch,  Sir  Andrew  Fitch,  the  President's  chain, — 
all  sorts  of  bright  visions  floated  before  his  imagination ;  and  as 
Caroline  was  the  first  precious  condition  of  his  preferment,  he 
determined  forthwith  to  begin,  and  realise  that. 

But  0  disappointment !  on  coming  down  to  dinner  at  three 
o'clock  to  that  charming  tcte-a-tete,  he  found  no  less  than  four  covers 
laid  on  the  table.  Miss  Caroline  blushing  (according  to  custom)  at 
the  head  of  it ;  Becky,  the  maid,  grinning  at  tlie  foot ;  and  Mr. 
Brandon  sitting  quietly  on  one  side,  as  much  at  home,  forsooth,  as 
if  he  had  lield  that  position  for  a  year. 

The  fact  is,  that  the  moment  after  Fitch  retired,  Brandon, 
inspired  by  jealousy,  had  made  the  same  request  which  had  been 
brought  forward  by  the  painter ;  nor  must  the  ladies  be  too  angry 
with  Caroline  if,  after  some  scruples  and  struggles,  she  yielded  to 
the  proposal.  Remember  that  the  girl  was  the  daughter  of  a 
boarding-house,  accustomed  to  continual  dealings  with  her  mamma's 
lodgers,  and  up  to  the  present  moment  thinking  herself  as  safe 
among  them  as  the  young  person  who  walked  through  Ireland 
with  a  bright  gold  wand,  in  the  song  of  Mr.  Thomas  Moore.  On 
the  point,  however,  of  Brandon's  admission,  it  must  be  confessed, 
for  Caroline's  honour,  that  she  did  hesitate.  She  felt  that  she 
entertained  very  different  feelings  towards  him  to  those  with  which 
any  other  lodger  or  man  had  inspired  her,  and  made  a  little  move- 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY  65 

ment  of  resistance  at  first.  But  the  poor  girl's  modesty  overcame 
this,  as  well  as  her  wish.  Ought  she  to  avoid  him  1  Ought  she 
not  to  stifle  any  jireference  which  she  might  feel  towards  him, 
and  act  towards  him  with  the  same  iudiff"erence  which  she  would 
show  to  any  other  person  in  a  like  situation  1  Was  not  Mr.  Fitch 
to  dine  at  table  as  usual,  and  had  she  refused  him  1  So  reasoned 
she  in  her  heart.  Silly  little  cunning  heart !  it  knew  that  all 
these  reasons  were  lies,  and  that  she  should  avoid  the  man ;  but 
she  was  willing  to  accept  of  any  pretext  for  meeting,  and  so  made 
a  kind  of  compromise  with  her  conscience.  Dine  he  should  ;  but 
Becky  should  dine  too,  and  be  a  protector  to  her.  Becky  laughed 
loudly  at  the  idea  of  this,  and  took  her  place  with  huge  delight. 

It  is  needless  to  say  a  word  about  this  dinner,  as  we  have 
already  described  a  former  meal ;  suffice  it  to  say,  that  the  presence 
of  Brandon  caused  the  painter  to  be  excessively  sulky  and  uncom- 
fortable ;  and  so  gave  liis  rival,  who  was  gay,  triumphant,  and  at 
his  ease,  a  decided  advantage  over  him.  Nor  did  Brandon  neglect 
to  use  this  to  the  utmost.  When  Fitch  retired  to  his  own  apart- 
ments— not  jealous  as  yet,  for  the  simple  fellow  believed  every 
word  of  Brandon's  morning  conversation  with  him — but  vaguely 
annoyed  and  disappointed,  Brandon  assailed  him  with  all  the  force 
of  ridicule ;  at  all  his  manners,  words,  looks,  he  joked  mercilessly ; 
laughed  at  his  low  birth  (Miss  Gann,  be  it  remembered,  had  been 
taught  to  pique  herself  upon  her  own  family),  and  invented  a  series 
of  stories  concerning  his  past  life  which  made  the  ladies — for  Becky, 
being  in  the  parlour,  must  be  considered  as  such — conceive  the 
greatest  contempt  and  pity  for  the  poor  painter. 

After  this,  Mr.  Brandon  would  expatiate  with  much  eloquence 
upon  his  own  superior  attractions  and  (pialities.  He  talked  of  his 
cousin.  Lord  So-and-so,  with  the  easiest  air  imaginable ;  told 
Caroline  what  princesses  he  had  danced  witli  at  foreign  courts ; 
frightened  her  with  accounts  of  dreadful  duels  he  had  fought ;  in 
a  word,  "  posed  "  before  her  as  a  hero  of  the  most  sublime  kind. 
How  the  poor  little  thing  drank  in  all  his  tales  ;  and  how  she  and 
Becky  (for  they  now  occupied  the  same  bedroom)  talked  over  them 
at  night ! 

Miss  Caroline,  as  Mr.  Fitcli  lias  already  stated,  had  in  her 
possession,  like  almost  every  young  lady  in  England,  a  little  square 
book  called  an  alljum,  containing  prints  from  annuals ;  hideous 
designs  of  flowers ;  old  pictures  of  faded  fasliions.  cut  out  and 
pasted  into  the  leaves  ;  and  small  scraps  of  verses  selected  from 
Byron,  Landon,  or  Mrs.  Hemans ;  and  Avritten  out  in  the  girlish 
hand  of  tlu^  owner  of  the  book.  Brandon  looked  over  this  work 
with  a  good  deal  of  curiosity — for  he  contended,  always,   that  a 

11  E 


66  A    SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY 

girl's  disposition  might  be  learned  from  the  character  of  this 
museum  of  hers — and  found  here  several  sketches  by  Mr.  Fitch,  for 
which,  before  tliat  gentleman  had  declared  his  passion  for  her, 
Caroline  had  begged.  These  sketches  the  sentimental  painter  had 
illustrated  with  poetry,  which,  I  must  confess,  Caroline  thought 
charming,  until  now,  when  Mr.  Brandon  took  occasion  to  point 
out  how  wretchedly  poor  the  verses  were  (as  indeed  was  the  fact), 
and  to  parody  them  all.  He  was  not  unskilful  at  this  kind  of 
exercise,  and  at  the  drawing  of  caricatures,  and  had  soon  made  a 
dozen  of  both  parodies  and  drawings,  which  reflected  cruelly  upon 
the  person  and  the  talents  of  the  painter. 

What  now  did  this  wicked  Mr.  Brandon  do?  He,  in  the  first 
place,  drew  a  caricature  of  Fitch  ;  and,  secondly,  having  gone  to  a 
gardener's  near  the  town,  and  purchased  there  a  bunch  of  violets, 
he  presented  them  to  Miss  Caroline,  and  wrote  Mr.  Fitch's  own 
verses  before  given  into  her  album.  He  signed  them  with  his 
own  initials,  and  thus  declared  open  war  with  the  painter. 


CHAPTER   VII 

WHICH  BRINGS  A  GREAT  NUMBER  OF  PEOPLE  TO 
MARGATE  BY  THE  STEAMBOAT 

THE  events  whic^li  this  history  records  began  in  the  month 
of  February.  Time  had  now  passed,  and  April  had  arrived, 
and  with  it  that  festive  season  so  loved  by  schoolboys,  and 
called  the  Easter  holidays.  Not  only  schoolboys,  but  men,  profit 
by  this  period  of  leisure, — such  men,  especially,  as  have  just  come 
into  enjoyment  of  their  own  cups  and  saucers,  and  are  in  daily 
expectation  of  their  whiskers — college  men,  I  mean, — who  are 
persons  more  anxious  than  any  others  to  designate  themselves  and 
each  other  by  tlie  manly  title. 

Among  other  men,  then,  my  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars,  of  Christ 
Church,  Oxon,  received  a  sum  of  money  to  pay  his  quarter's  bill, 
and  having  written  to  his  papa  that  he  was  busily  engaged  in 
reading  for  the  "little-go,"  and  must,  therefore,  decline  the  delight 
he  had  promised  himself  of  passing  the  vacation  at  Cinqbars  Hall, 
— and  having,  the  day  after  his  letter  was  despatched,  driven  to 
town  tandem  with  young  Tom  Tufthunt,  of  the  same  university, — 
and  having  exhausted  the  pleasures  of  the  metropolis — the  theatres, 
the  Cider  Cellars,  tlie  Finish,  the  station-houses,  and  other  places 
which  need  by  no  means  be  here  particularised, — Lord  Cinqbars, 
I  say,  growing  tired  of  London  at  the  end  of  ten  days,  quitted  the 
metropolis  soinewliat  suddenly  :  nor  did  he  pay  his  liotel  bill  at 
Long's  before  his  dej)arture  ;  but  he  left  that  document  in  possession 
of  the  landlord,  as  a  token  of  his  (my  Lord  Cinqbars')  confidence 
in  his  host. 

Tom  Tuftliunt  went  with  my  Lord,  of  course  (although  of  an 
aristocratic  turn  in  politics,  Tom  loved  and  resjtected  a  lord  as  nuich 
as  any  democrat  in  England).  And  whither  do  you  think  this 
worthy  pair  of  young  gentlemen  were  bound  1  To  no  less  a  place 
than  Margate ;  for  Cinqbars  was  filled  with  a  longing  to  go  and  see 
his  old  friend  Brandon,  and  determined,  to  use  his  own  elegant 
words,  "  to  knock  the  old  buck  up." 

There  was  no  adventure  of  consequence  on  Ixiard  tlie  steamer 
which    brought    Lord    Cincibars    and   his    friend    from    London    to 


68  A    SHABBY   GENTEEL   STORY 

Margate,  and  very  few  passengers  besides.  A  wandering  Jew  or  two 
were  set  down  at  Gravesend ;  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wackerbart,  and  six 
unhappy  little  pupils  whom  the  reverend  gentleman  had  pounced 
upon  in  London,  and  was  carrying  back  to  his  academy  near  Heme 
Bay  ;  some  of  those  inevitable  persons  of  dubious  rank  who  seem  to 
have  free  tickets,  and  always  eat  and  drink  hugely  with  the  captain; 
and  a  lady  and  her  party,  formed  the  whole  list  of  passengers. 

The  lady — a  very  fat  lady — had  evidently  just  returned  from 
abroad.  Her  great  green  travelling  chariot  was  on  the  deck,  and 
on  all  her  imperials  were  pasted  fresh  large  bills,  with  the  words 
Inge's  British  Hotel,  Boulogne-sur-Mer  ;  for  it  is  the  custom 
of  that  worthy  gentleman  to  seize  upon  and  plaster  all  the  luggage 
of  his  guests  with  tickets,  on  which  his  name  and  residence  are 
inscribed, — by  which  simple  means  he  keeps  himself  perpetually 
in  their  recollection,  and  brings  himself  to  the  notice  of  all  other 
persons  who  are  in  the  habit  of  peering  at  their  fellow-passengers' 
trunks,  to  find  out  their  names.  I  need  not  say  what  a  large 
class  this  is. 

Well ;  this  fat  lady  had  a  courier,  a  tall  whiskered  man,  who 
spoke  all  languages,  looked  like  a  field-marshal,  went  by  the  name 
of  Donnerwetter,  and  rode  on  the  box;  a  French  maid,  Made- 
moiselle Augustine ;  and  a  little  black  page,  called  Saladin,  who  rode 
in  the  rumble.  Saladin's  whole  business  was  to  attend  a  wheezy 
fat  white  poodle,  who  usually  travelled  inside  with  his  mistress 
and  her  fair  compagnon  de  voyage,  whose  name  was  Miss  Runt. 
This  fat  lady  was  evidently  a  person  of  distinction.  During  the 
first  part  of  the  voyage,  on  a  windy  sunshiny  April  day,  she  paced 
the  deck  stoutly,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  poor  little  Miss  Runt ;  and 
after  they  had  passed  Gravesend,  when  the  vessel  began  to  pitch  a 
good  deal,  retired  to  her  citadel,  the  travelling  chariot,  to  and  from 
which  the  steward,  the  stewardess,  and  the  whiskered  courier  were 
continually  running  with  supplies — of  sandwiches  first,  and  after- 
wards of  very  hot  brandy-and- water :  for  the  truth  must  be  told,  it 
was  rather  a  rough  afternoon,  and  the  poodle  was  sick ;  Saladin 
was  as  bad ;  the  French  maid,  like  all  French  maids,  was  outrage- 
ously ill ;  the  lady  herself  was  very  unwell  indeed ;  and  poor  dear 
sympathising  Runt  was  qualmish. 

"  Ah,  Runt !  "  would  the  fat  lady  say  in  the  intervals,  "  what  a 
thing  this  malady  de  mare  is  ?     Oh,  mong  jew  ;  Oh — oh  !  " 

"  It  is,  indeed,  dear  madam,"  said  Runt,  and  went  "  Oh — oh  ! " 
in  chorus. 

"  Ask  the  steward  if  we  are  near  Margate,  Runt."  And  Runt 
did,  and  asked  this  question  every  five  minutes,  as  people  do  on 
these  occasions. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       69 

"  Issy,  Monsieur  Donnerwetter  :  ally  dimandy  ung  pew  d'o  sho 
poor  mwaw. 

"Et  de  I'eau  de  fie  afec,  u'est-ce-bas,  Mataine  ?"  said  Mr. 
Donnerwetter. 

"  Wee,  wee,  comnic  vous  vouly." 

And  Donnerwetter  knew  very  well  what  "  comme  vous  vouly  " 
meant,  and  brought  the  liquor  exactly  in  the  wislied-for  state. 

"  Ah,  Runt,  Runt !  there's  something  even  worse  than  sea- 
sickness.    Heigh-ho  ! " 

"Dear  dear  Marianne,  don't  flutter  yourself,"  cries  Runt, 
squeezing  a  fat  paw  of  her  friend  and  patroness  between  her  own 
bony  fingers.  "  Don't  agitate  your  nerves,  dear.  I  know  you're 
miserable  ;  but  haven't  you  got  a  friend  in  your  faithful  Runty  1 " 

"  You're  a  good  creator,  that  you  are,"  said  the  fat  lady,  who 
seemed  herself  to  be  a  good-humoured  old  soul ;  "and  I  don't  know 
what  I  should  have  done  without  you.     Heigh-ho  !  " 

"  Cheer  up,  dear  !  you'll  be  happier  when  you  get  to  Margate  : 
you  know  you  will,"  cried  Runt,  very  knowingly, 

"What  do  you  mean,  Elizabeth?" 

"You  know  very  well,  dear  Marianne.  I  mean  that  there's 
Bome  one  there  will  make  you  happy ;  though  he's  a  nasty  wretch, 
that  he  is,  to  have  treated  my  darling  beautiful  Marianne  so." 

"  Runt,  Runt,  don't  abuse  that  best  of  men.  Don't  call  me 
beautiful — I'm  not.  Runt ;  I  have  been,  but  I  ain't  now ;  and  oh  ! 
no  woman  in  the  world  is  assy  bong  poor  lui." 

"  But  an  angel  is ;  and  you  are,  as  you  always  was,  an  angel, 
— as  good  as  an  angel,  as  kind  as  an  angel,  as  beautiful  as  one." 

"  Ally  dong,"  said  her  companion,  giving  her  a  push ;  "  you 
flatter  me.  Runt,  you  know  you  do." 

"  May  I  be  struck  down  dead  if  I  don't  say  the  truth  ;  and  if 
he  refuses  you,  as  he  did  at  Rome,— that  is,  after  all  his  attentions 
and  vows,  he's  faithless  to  you, — I  say  he's  a  wretch,  that  he  is ; 
and  I  will  say  he's  a  wretch,  and  he  is  a  wretch — a  nasty  wicked 
wretch  ! " 

"  Elizabeth,  if  you  say  that,  you'll  break  my  heart,  you  will ! 
Vous  casserez  mong  povcr  cure."  But  Elizabeth  swore,  on  the 
contrary,  that  she  would  die  for  her  Marianne,  which  consoled  the 
fat  lady  a  little. 

A  great  deal  more  of  this  kind  of  conversation  took  place  during 
the  voyage ;  but  as  it  occurred  inside  a  carriage,  so  that  to  hear  it 
was  very  difficult,  and  as  possil)ly  it  was  not  of  that  edifying  nature 
which  would  induce  the  reader  to  relish  many  cliaijtcrs  of  it,  we 
shall  give  no  furtlicr  account  of  the  ladies'  talk  :  suffice  it  to  say,  that 
about  half-past  four  o'clock  tlic  journey  ended  by  the  vessel  bring- 


70  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

ing  up  at  Margate  Pier.  The  passengers  poured  forth,  and  hied 
to  their  respective  homes  or  inns.  My  Lord  Cinqbars  and  his 
companion  (of  whom  we  have  said  nothing,  as  they  on  their  sides 
had  scarcely  spoken  a  word  the  whole  way,  except  "deuce-ace," 
"quater-tray,"  "sizes,"  and  so  on, — being  occupied  ceaselessly  in 
drinking  bottled  stout  and  playing  backgammon)  ordered  their 
luggage  to  be  conveyed  to  "  Wright's  Hotel,"  whither  the  fat  lady 
and  suite  followed  them.  The  house  was  vacant,  and  the  best 
rooms  in  it  were  placed,  of  course,  at  the  service  of  the  new  comers. 
The  fat  lady  sailed  out  of  her  bedroom  towards  her  saloon  just  as 
Lord  Cinqbars,  cigar  in  mouth,  was  swaggering  out  of  his  parlour. 
They  met  in  the  passage ;  when,  to  the  young  lord's  surprise,  the 
fat  lady  dropped  him  a  low  curtsey  and  said — 

"  Munseer  le  Vecomte  de  Cinqbars,  sharmy  de  vous  voir.  Vous 
vous  rappelez  de  mwaw,  n'est-ce-pas  ?  Je  vous  ai  vew  k  Rome — 
shay  I'ambassadure,  vous  savy." 

Lord  Cinqbars  stared  her  in  the  face,  and  pushed  by  her  with- 
out a  word,  leaving  the  fat  lady  rather  disconcerted. 

"Well,  Runt,  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  "he  need  not  be  so  proud; 
I've  met  him  twenty  times  at  Rome,  when  he  was  a  young  chap 
with  his  tutor." 

"Who  the  devil  can  that  fat  foreigner  be?"  mused  Lord 
Cinqbars.  "  Hang  her,  I've  seen  her  somewhere ;  but  I'm  cursed 
if  I  understand  a  word  of  her  jabber."  And  so,  dismissing  the 
subject,  he  walked  on  to  Brandon's. 

"  Dang  it,  it's  a  strange  thing  !  "  said  the  landlord  of  the  hotel ; 
"but  both  my  Lord  and  the  fat  woman  in  Number  Nine  have 
asked  their  way  to  Mother  Gann's  lodging," — for  so  did  he  dare  to 
call  that  respectable  woman  ! 

It  was  true :  as  soon  as  Number  Nine  had  eaten  her  dinner, 
she  asked  the  question  mentioned  by  the  landlord ;  and,  as  this 
meal  occupied  a  considerable  time,  the  shades  of  evening  had  by 
this  time  fallen  upon  the  quiet  city ;  the  silver  moon  lighted  up  the 
bay,  and,  supported  by  a  numerous  and  well-appointed  train  of  gas- 
lamps,  illuminated  the  streets  of  a  town, — of  autumn  eves  so 
crowded  and  so  gay ;  of  gusty  April  nights  so  desolate.  At  this 
still  hour  (it  might  be  half-past  seven)  two  latlies  passed  the  gates 
of  "Wright's  Hotel,"  "in  shrouding  mantle  wrapped,  and  velvet 
cap."  Up  the  deserted  High  Street  toiled  they,  by  gaping  rows 
of  empty  bathing-houses,  by  melancholy  Jolly's  French  bazaar,  by 
mouldy  pastrycooks,  blank  reading-rooms,  by  fishmongers  who  never 
sold  a  fish,  mercers  who  vended  not  a  yaixl  of  ribbon — because,  as 
yet,  the  season  was  not  come, — and  Jews  and  Cockneys  still 
remained   in   town.     At   High   Street's   corner,    near   to   Hawley 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  71 

Square,  they  passed  the  house  of  Mr.  Finoham,  chemist,  who  doth 
not  only  healthful  drugs  supply,  but  likewise  sells  cigars — the 
worst  cigars  that  ever  mortal  man  gave  threepence  for. 

Up  to  this  point,  I  say,  I  have  had  a  right  to  accompany  the 
fat  lady  and  Miss  Runt :  but  whether,  on  arriving  at  Mr.  Fincham's, 
they  turned  to  the  left,  in  the  direction  of  the  "  Royal  Hotel,"  or 
to  the  right,  by  the  beach,  the  bathing-machines,  and  queer  rickety 
old  row  of  houses,  called  Buenos  Ayres,  no  power  on  earth  shall 
induce  me  to  say  ;  suffice  it,  they  went  to  Mrs.  Gann's.  Why 
should  we  set  all  the  world  gadding  to  a  particular  street,  to  know 
where  that  lady  lives?  They  arrived  before  that  lady's  house  at 
about  eight  o'clock.  Every  house  in  the  street  had  bills  on  it 
except  hers  (bitter  mockery,  as  if  anybody  came  down  at  Easter !), 
and  at  Mrs.  Gann's  house  there  was  a  light  in  the  garret,  and 
another  in  the  two-pair  front.  I  believe  I  have  not  mentioned 
before,  that  all  the  front  windows  were  bow  or  bay  windows ;  but 
so  much  the  reader  may  know. 

The  two  ladies,  who  had  walked  so  far,  examined  wistfully  the 
plate  on  the  door,  stood  on  the  steps  for  a  short  time,  retreated, 
and  conversed  with  one  another. 

"  Oh,  Runty  !  "  said  the  stouter  of  the  two,  "  he's  here — I 
know  he's  here,  mong  cure  le  dee — my  heart  tells  me  so."  And 
she  })ut  a  large  hand  ujjon  a  X)lace  on  her  left  side,  where  there 
once  had  been  a  waist. 

"  Do  you  think  he  looks  front  or  back,  dear  1 "  asked  Runt. 
"  P'raps  he's  not  at  home." 

"  Tiiat — that's  his  croisy,"  said  the  stout  person ;  "  I  know 
it  is ; "  and  she  pointed  with  instinctive  justice  to  the  two-pair. 
"  Ecouty  ! "  she  added,  "  he's  coming ;  there's  some  one  at  that 
window.     Oh,  mong  jew,  mong  jew  !  c'est  Andrd,  c'est  lui !  " 

The  moon  was  shining  full  on  the  foee  of  the  bow-windows  of 
Mrs.  Gann's  house ;  and  the  two  fair  spies,  who  were  watching  on 
the  other  side,  were,  in  consequence,  conii)letely  in  shadow.  As 
the  lady  said,  a  dark  form  was  seen  in  the  two-pair  front ;  it  paced 
the  room  for  a  while,  for  no  lilinds  were  drawn.  It  then  flung 
itself  on  a  chair;  its  head  on  its  hands  ;  it  tlicn  began  to  beat  its 
brows  wildly,  and  j)accd  the  room  again.  All  !  how  the  fat  lady's 
heart  throbbed  as  she  looked  at  all  this! 

She  gave  a  piercing  shriek — almost  fainted  !  and  little  Runt's 
knees  trembled  under  her,  as  with  all  her  might  she  su})ported,  or 
rather  pushed  up,  the  falling  figure  of  her  stout  patroness, — who 
saw  at  that  instant  Fitch  come  to  the  candle  with  an  immense 
pistol  in  his  hand,  and  give  a  most  horrible  grin  as  he  looked  at  it 
and  clasped  it  to  his  breast. 


72  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

"Unhand  me,  Runt;  he's  going  to  kill  himself!  It's  forme! 
I  know  it  is — I  will  go  to  him  !  Andrea,  my  Andrea  !  "  And  the 
fat  lady  was  pushing  for  the  opposite  side  of  the  way,  when  suddenly 
the  second-floor  window  went  clattering  up,  and  Fitch's  pale  head 
was  thrust  out. 

He  had  heard  a  scream,  and  had  possibly  been  induced  to  open 
the  window  in  consequence ;  but  by  the  time  he  had  opened  it  he 
had  forgotten  everything,  and  put  his  head  vacantly  out  of  the 
window,  and  gazed,  the  moon  shining  cold  on  his  pale  features. 

"  Pallid  horb  ! "  said  Fitch,  "  shall  I  ever  see  thy  light  again  ? 
Will  another  night  see  me  on  this  hearth,  or  view  me,  stark  and 
cold,  a  lifeless  corjjse  ? "  He  took  his  pistol  up,  and  slowly  aimed 
it  at  a  chimney-pot  opposite.  Fancy  the  fat  lady's  sensations,  as 
she  beheld  her  lover  standing  in  the  moonlight,  and  exercising  this 
deadly  weapon. 

"Make  ready — present — fire!"  shouted  Fitch,  and  did  in- 
stantaneously, not  fire  off",  but  lower  his  weapon.  "  The  bolt  of 
death  is  sped  !  "  continued  he,  clapping  his  hand  on  his  side.  "  The 
poor  painter's  life  is  over  !     Caroline,  Caroline,  I  die  for  thee  ! " 

"  Runt,  Runt,  I  told  you  so  !  "  shrieked  the  fat  lady.  "  He  is 
dying  for  me,  and  Caroline's  my  second  name." 

What  the  fat  lady  would  have  done  more,  I  can't  say  ;  for 
Fitch,  disturbed  out  of  his  reverie  by  her  talking  below,  looked  out, 
frowning  vacantly,  and  saying,  "Ulloh!  we've  hinterlopers  'ere!" 
suddenly  banged  down  the  window,  and  pulled  down  the  blinds. 

This  gave  a  check  to  the  fat  lady's  projected  rush,  and  discon- 
certed her  a  little.  But  she  was  consoled  by  Miss  Runt,  promised 
to  return  on  the  morrow,  and  went  home  happy  in  the  idea  that 
her  Andrea  was  faithful  to  her. 

Alas,  poor  fat  lady  !  little  did  you  know  the  truth.  It  was 
Caroline  Gann  Fitch  was  raving  about ;  and  it  was  a  part  of  his 
last  letter  to  her,  to  be  delivered  after  his  death,  that  he  was  spout- 
ing out  of  the  window. 

Was  the  crazy  painter  going  to  fight  a  duel,  or  was  he  going  to 
kill  himself  1     This  will  be  explained  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

WHICH   TREATS  OF  IV AR  AND  LOVE,   AND  MANY   THINGS 
THAT  ARE  NOT  TO  BE  UNDERSTOOD  IN  CHAP.  VII. 

FITCH'S  verses,  inserted  in  a  previous  chapter  of  this  story 
(and  of  which  lines,  by  the  way,  the  printer  managed  to 
make  still  greater  nonsense  than  the  ingenious  bard  ever 
designed),  had  been  composed  many  years  before ;  and  it  was  with 
no  small  trouble  and  thought  tliat  the  young  painter  called  the 
greater  part  of  them  to  memory  again,  and  furbished  up  a  copy  for 
Caroline's  album.  Unlike  the  love  of  most  men,  Andrea's  passion 
was  not  characterised  by  jealousy  and  watchfulness,  otherwise  he 
would  not  have  failed  to  perceive  certain  tokens  of  intelligence 
passing  from  time  to  time  between  Caroline  and  Brandon,  and  the 
lady's  evident  coldness  to  himself.  The  fact  is,  the  painter  was  in 
love  with  being  in  love, — entirely  absorbed  in  the  consideration  of 
the  fact  that  he,  Andrea  Fitch,  was  at  last  enamoured,  and  he  did 
not  mind  his  mistress  much  more  than  Don  Quixote  did  Dulcinea 
del  Toboso. 

Having  rubbed  up  his  verses,  then,  and  designed  a  pretty  em- 
blematical outline  which  was  to  surround  them,  representing  an 
arabesque  of  violets,  dewdrops,  fairies,  and  other  objects,  he  came 
down  one  morning,  drawing  in  hand  ;  and  having  informed  Caroline, 
who  was  sitting  very  melancholy  in  the  parloui",  preoccupied,  with 
a  pale  face  and  red  eyes,  and  not  caring  twopence  for  the  finest 
drawing  in  the  world, — having  informed  her  that  he  was  going  to 
make  in  her  hall)um  a  humble  liofl'ering  of  his  hart,  poor  Fitch  was 
just  on  the  jwiiit  oi'  sticking  in  tlic  drawing  with  gum,  as  i)ainters 
know  very  well  how  to  do,  when  his  eye  lighted  uj)on  a  l)age  of  the 
album,  in  which  nestled  a  few  dried  violets  antl — his  own  verses, 
signed  with  the  name  of  (ieorge  Brandon. 

"  Miss  Caroline — ]\Iiss  Gann,  mam  !  "  shrieked  Fitch,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  wliich  made  the  ytjung  lady  start  out  of  a  profound  reverie, 
and  cry  nervously,     "  What  in  Heaven  is  tlie  matter  T' 

"  These  verses,  madam — a  faded  violet — word  for  word,  gracious 
'eavens  !  every  word  !  "  roared  Fitch,  advancing  with  the  book. 

She  looked  at  him  rather  vacantly,  and  as  the  violets  caught 


74       A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY 

her  eye,  put  out  lier  hand,  and  took  them.  "  Do  you  know  the 
hawthor,  Miss  Gaiui,  of  '  The  Faded  Violets  '  1 " 

"  Author  1  Oh  yes  ;  they  are — they  are  George's  !  "  She 
burst  into  tears  as  she  said  that  word ;  and,  pvdling  the  little 
faded  flowers  to  pieces,  went  sobbing  out  of  the  room. 

Dear  dear  little  Caroline  !  she  has  only  been  in  love  two  months, 
and  is  already  beginning  to  feel  the  woes  of  it ! 

It  cannot  be  from  want  of  experience — for  I  have  felt  the  noble 
passion  of  love  many  times  these  forty  years,  since  I  was  a  boy 
of  twelve  (by  which  the  reader  may  form  a  pretty  good  guess  of 
ray  age),— it  cannot  be,  I  say,  from  want  of  experience  that  I 
am  unable  to  describe,  step  by  step,  the  progress  of  a  love  affair ; 
nay,  I  am  perfectly  certain  that  I  coiild,  if  I  chose,  make  a  most 
astonishing  and  heartrending  liber  amoris;  but,  nevertheless,  I 
always  feel  a  vast  repugnance  to  the  following  out  of  a  subject 
of  this  kind,  which  I  attribute  to  a  natural  diffidence  and  sense 
of  shame  that  prevent  me  from  enlarging  on  a  theme  that  has 
in  it  something  sacred — certain  arcana  which  an  honest  man, 
although  initiated  into  them,  should  not  divulge. 

If  such  coy  scruples  and  blushing  delicacy  prevent  one  from 
passing  the  threshold  even  of  an  honourable  love,  and  setting  down, 
at  so  many  guineas  or  shillings  per  page,  the  pious  emotions  and 
tendernesses  of  two  persons  chastely  and  legally  engaged  in  sighing, 
ogling,  hand-squeezing,  kissing,  and  so  forth  (for  with  such  outward 
signs  I  believe  that  the  passion  of  love  is  expressed),  if  a  man  feel, 
I  say,  squeamish  about  describing  an  innocent  love,  he  is  doubly 
disinclined  to  describe  a  guilty  one ;  and  I  have  always  felt  a 
kind  of  loathing  for  the  skill  of  such  geniuses  as  Rousseau  or 
Richardson,  who  could  paint  with  such  painful  accuracy  all  the 
struggles  and  woes  of  Hdloise  and  Clarissa, — all  the  wicked  arts 
and  triumphs  of  such  scoundrels  as  Lovelace. 

We  have  in  this  history  a  scoundrelly  Lovelace  in  the  person 
going  by  the  name  of  George  Brandon,  and  a  dear,  tender,  innocent, 
yielding  creature  on  whom  he  is  practising  his  infernal  skill ;  and 
whether  the  public  feel  any  sympathy  for  her  or  not,  the  writer 
can  OTdy  say,  for  his  part,  that  he  heartily  loves  and  respects  poor 
little  Caroline,  and  is  quite  unwilling  to  enter  into  any  of  the  slow, 
painful,  wicked  details  of  the  courtship  which  passed  between  her 
and  her  lover. 

Not  that  there  was  any  wickedness  on  her  side,  poor  gh'l !  or 
that  she  did  anything  but  follow  the  natural  and  beautiful  impulses 
of  an  honest  little  female  heart,  that  leads  it  to  trust  and  love  and 
worship  a  being  of  tlie  other  sex  whom  the  eager  fancy  invests 
with    all  sorts   of  attributes  of  sui:)eriority.     There   was  no   wild 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       75 

conceited  tale  that  Brandon  told  Caroline  which  she  did  not  believe, 
— no  virtue  which  she  could  conceive  or  had  read  of  in  novels  with 
which  she  did  not  endow  him.  Many  long  talks  had  they,  and 
many  sweet  stolen  interviews,  during  the  periods  in  which  Caroline's 
father  and  mother  were  away  making  merry  at  the  house  of  their 
son-in-law ;  and  wliile  she  was  left  under  the  care  of  her  virtue 
and  of  Becky  the  maid.  Indeed,  it  was  a  blessing  that  the  latter 
was  left  in  the  joint  guardianship.  For  Becky,  who  had  such  an 
absurd  opinion  of  her  young  lady's  merits  as  to  fancy  that  she 
was  a  fit  wife  for  any  gentleman  of  the  land,  and  that  any  gentle- 
man might  be  charmed  and  fall  in  love  with  her,  had  some  instinct, 
or  possibly  some  exjjcrience,  as  to  the  passions  and  errors  of  youth, 
aiul  warned  Caroline  accordingly.  "  If  he's  really  in  love,  miss,  and 
I  think  he  be,  he'll  marry  you  ;  if  he  won't  marry  you,  he's  a  rascal, 
and  you're  too  good  for  him,  and  must  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him."  To  which  Caroline  rejJied,  that  she  was  sure  Mr.  Brandon 
was  the  most  angelic,  high-principled  of  human  beings,  and  that  she 
was  sure  his  intentions  were  of  the  most  honourable  description. 

We  have  before  described  what  Mr.  Brandon's  cliaracter  was. 
He  was  not  a  man  of  honourable  intentions  at  all.  But  he  was 
a  gentleman  of  so  excessively  eager  a  temperament,  that  if  properly 
resisted  by  a  practised  coquette,  or  by  a  woman  of  strong  principles, 
he  would  sacrifice  anything  to  obtain  his  ends, — nay,  marry  to 
obtain  them ;  and,  considering  his  disposition,  it  is  only  a  wonder 
that  he  hail  not  been  married  a  great  number  of  times  already;  for 
he  had  been  in  love  perpetually  since  his  seventeenth  year.  By 
wliich  the  reader  may  pretty  well  apjireciate  the  virtue  or  the 
prudence  of  the  ladies  with  whom  hitlierto  our  inflammabh;  young 
gentleman  had  had  to  do. 

The  fruit,  then,  of  all  his  stolen  interviews,  of  all  his  prayers, 
vows,  and  protestations  to  Caroline,  had  been  only  this, — that  she 
loved  him ;  but  loved  him  as  an  honest  girl  should,  and  was  ready 
to  go  to  the  altar  with  him  when  he  chose.  He  talked  al)out 
his  family,  his  peculiar  circumstances,  liis  j)roud  father's  curse. 
Little  Caroline  only  sighed,  and  said  her  dearest  George  must  wait 
until  he  could  obtain  his  i)arent's  consent.  When  pressed  harder, 
slie  would  burst  into  tears,  and  wonder  how  one  so  good  and 
affectionate  as  he  could  })ropose  to  her  anything  unworthy  of  them 
both.  It  is  clear  to  see  tliat  tlie  young  lady  had  read  a  vast 
number  of  novels,  and  knew  something  of  the  nature  of  love  ; 
and  that  she  had  a  good  principle  and  honesty  of  her  own,  wliidi 
set  her  lover's  schemes  at  naught :  indeed,  she  had  both  these 
advantages, — her  education,  such  as  it  was,  having  given  her  the 
one,  and  her  honest  nature  having  endowed  licr  with  the  otlier. 


76  A   SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY 

On  the  day  wlien  Fitch  came  down  to  Caroline  with  his  verses, 
Brandon  had  pressed  these  unworthy  propositions  upon  her.  She 
had  torn  herself  violently  away  from  him,  and  rushed  to  the  door ; 
but  the  poor  little  thing  fell  before  she  coidd  reach  it,  screaming 
in  a  fit  of  hysterics,  which  brought  Becky  to  her  aid,  and  caused 
Brandon  to  leave  her,  abashed.  He  went  out ;  she  watched  him 
go,  and  stole  up  into  his  room,  and  laid  on  his  table  the  first  letter 
she  had  ever  written  to  him.  It  was  written  in  pencil,  in  a  trem- 
bling schoolgirl  hand,  and  contained  simply  the  following  words : — 

"  George,  you  have  almost  broken  my  heart.  Leave  me  if  you 
will,  and  if  you  dare  not  act  like  an  honest  man.  If  ever  you 
speak  to  me  so  again  as  you  did  this  morning,  I  declare  solemnly 
before  Heaven,  I  will  take  poison.  C." 

Indeed,  the  poor  thing  had  read  romances  to  some  purpose ; 
without  them,  it  is  probable,  she  never  would  have  thought  of 
such  a  means  of  escape  from  a  lover's  persecutions ;  and  there  was 
something  in  the  girl's  character  that  made  Brandon  feel  sure  that 
slie  would  keep  her  promise.  How  the  words  agitated  him  !  He 
felt  a  violent  mixture  of  raging  disai^pointment  and  admiration, 
and  loved  the  girl  ten  thousand  times  more  than  ever. 

Mr.  Brandon  had  scarcely  finisiied  the  reading  of  this  document, 
and  was  yet  agitated  by  the  various  passions  which  the  perusal  of 
it  created,  when  the  door  of  his  apartment  was  violently  flung  open, 
and  some  one  came  in.  Brandon  started,  and  turned  round,  with  a 
kind  of  dread  that  Caroline  liad  already  executed  her  threat,  and 
that  a  messenger  was  come  to  inform  him  of  her  death.  Mr. 
Andrea  Fitch  was  the  intruder.  His  hat  was  on — his  eyes  were 
glaring ;  and  if  the  beards  of  men  did  stand  on  end  anywhere  but 
in  poems  and  romances,  his,  no  doubt,  would  have  formed  round 
his  countenance  a  bristling  auburn  halo.  As  it  was.  Fitch  only 
looked  astonishingly  fierce,  as  he  stalked  up  to  the  table,  his  hands 
behind  his  back.  When  he  had  arrived  at  this  barrier  between 
himself  and  Mr.  Brandon,  he  stopped,  and,  speechless,  stared  that 
gentleman  in  the  face. 

"  May  I  beg,  Mr.  Fitch,  to  know  what  has  procured  me  the 
honour  of  this  visit  ] "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brandon,  after  a  brief  pause 
of  wonder. 

"  Honour  ! — ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  growled  Mr.  Fitch,  in  a  most  sardonic, 
discordant  way — "  honour  !  " 

"  Well,  sir,  honour  or  no  honour,  I  can  tell  you,  my  good  man, 
it  certainly  is  no  pleasure ! "  said  Brandon  testily.  "  In  plain 
English,  then,  what  the  devil  has  brought  you  here  1 " 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL   STORY  77 

Fitch  plumped  the  album  down  on  the  table  close  to  Mr. 
Brandon's  nose,  and  said,  "  That  has  brought  me,  sir^ — that 
halbiim,  sir ;  or,  I  ask  your  pardon,  that  a — album — ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  see  ! "  said  Mr.  Brandon,  wlio  could  not  refrain  from 
a  smile.  "  It  was  a  cruel  trick  of  mine.  Fitch,  to  rob  you  of  your 
verses ;  but  all's  lair  in  love." 

"  Fitch,  sir  !  don't  Fitch  me,  sir  !  I  wish  to  be  hintimate  honly 
with  men  of  h-honour,  not  with  forgers,  sir;  not  with  'artless 
miscreants !  Miscreants,  sir,  I  repeat ;  vipers,  sir ;  b-b-b-black- 
guards,  sir ! " 

"  Blackguards,  sir  !  "  roared  Mr.  Brandon,  bouncing  up  ;  "  black- 
guards, you  dirty  cockney  mountebank  !  Quit  the  room,  sir,  or 
I'll  fling  you  out  of  the  window  !  " 

"Will  you,  sir?  try,  sir;  I  wish  you  may  get  it,  sir.  I'm  a 
hartist,  sir,  and  as  good  a  man  as  you.  Miscreant,  forger,  traitor, 
come  on ! " 

And  Mr.  Brandon  ivould  have  come  on,  but  for  the  circumstance 
that  deterred  him ;  and  this  was,  that  Mr.  Fitch  drew  from  his 
bosom  a  long,  sharp,  shining,  waving  poniard  of  the  middle  ages, 
that  formed  a  part  of  his  artistical  properties,  and  with  which  he 
had  armed  himself  for  this  encounter. 

"  Come  on,  sir  !  "  shrieked  Fitch,  brandishing  this  fearful  weapon. 
"  Lay  a  finger  on  me,  and  I  biu-y  this  blade  in  your  treacherous  'art. 
Ha  !  do  you  tremble  1 " 

Indeed,  the  aristocratic  Mr.  Brandon  turned  somewhat  pale. 

"Well,  well,"  said  he,  "what  do  you  want?  Do  you  suppose 
I  am  to  be  bullied  by  your  absurd  melodramatic  airs  !  It  was,  after 
all,  but  a  joke,  sir,  and  I  am  sorry  that  it  has  ofieuded  you.  Can 
I  say  more? — What  shall  I  do?" 

"  You  shall  hapologise ;  not  only  to  mc,  sir,  but  you  shall 
tell  Miss  Caroline,  in  my  ])resence,  that  you  stole  those  verses  from 
me,  and  used  them  quite  unauthorised  by  mc." 

"  Look  you,  Mr.  Fitch,  I  will  make  you  another  set  of  verses 
quite  as  good,  if  you  like  ;  but  what  you  ask  is  impossible." 

"  I  will  'asten  myself,  then,  to  Miss  Caroline,  and  acquaint  her 
with  your  dastardly  forgery,  sir.     I  will  hopen  her  heyes,  sir !  " 

"You  may  hoju-n  her  heyes,  as  you  call  them,  if  you  please; 
but  I  tell  you  fairly,  that  the  young  lady  will  credit  me  rather 
than  you ;  and  if  you  swear  ever  so  much  that  the  verses  are  yours, 
I  must  say  that " 

"Say  what,  sir?" 

"  Say  that  you  lie,  sir ! "  said  Mr.  Brandon,  stamping  on  the 
groiuid.  "  I'll  make  you  other  verses,  I  repeat ;  but  this  is  all  I 
can  do,  and  now  go  about  your  business  !  " 


78  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

"  Curse  your  verses,  sir  !  liar  and  forger  yourself !  Hare  you  a 
coward  as  well,  sir  1  A  coward  !  yes,  I  believe  you  are  ;  or  will  you 
meet  me  to-morrow  morning  like  a  man,  and  give  me  satisfaction  for 
this  liiufamous  hinsulf?" 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  with  the  utmost  stateliness  and  scorn, 
"  if  you  wish  to  murder  me  as  you  do  the  King's  English,  I  won't 
baulk  you.  Although  a  man  of  my  rank  is  not  called  upon  to  meet 
a  blackguard  of  your  condition,  I  will,  nevertheless,  grant  you  your 
will.  But  have  a  care ;  by  heavens,  I  won't  spare  you,  and  I  can 
hit  an  ace  of  hearts  at  twenty  paces  ! " 

"Two  can  play  at  that,"  said  Mr.  Fitch  calmly;  "and  if  I 
can't  hit  a  hace  of  'arts  at  twenty  paces,  I  can  hit  a  man  at  twelve, 
and  to-morrow  I'll  try."  With  which,  giving  Mr.  Brandon  a  look 
of  the  highest  contempt,  the  young  painter  left  the  room. 

What  were  Mr.  Brandon's  thoughts  as  his  antagonist  left  him  ? 
Strange  to  say,  rather  agreeable.  He  had  much  too  great  a  con- 
tempt for  Fitch  to  suppose  that  so  low  a  fellow  would  ever  think 
seriously  of  fighting  him,  and  reasoned  with  himself  thus  : — 

"  This  Fitch,  I  know,  will  go  off  to  Caroline,  tell  her  the  whole 
transaction,  frighten  her  with  the  tale  of  a  duel,  and  then  she  and 
I  shall  have  a  scene.  I  will  tell  her  the  truth  about  those  infernal 
verses,  menace  death,  blood,  and  danger,  and  then " 

Here  he  fell  back  into  a  charming  reverie ;  the  wily  fellow  knew 
what  power  such  a  circumstance  would  give  him  over  a  poor  weak 
girl,  who  would  do  anything  rather  than  that  her  beloved  should 
risk  his  life.  And  with  this  dastardly  speculation  as  to  the  price 
he  should  ask  for  refraining  from  meeting  Fitch,  he  was  entertaining 
himself;  when,  much  to  his  annoyance,  that  gentleman  again  came 
into  the  room. 

"  Mr.  Brandon,"  said  he,  "  you  have  insulted  me  in  the  grossest 
and  cruellest  way." 

"  Well,  sir,  are  you  come  to  apologise  1 "  said  Brandon  sneeringly. 

"  No,  I'm  not  come  to  apologise,  Mr.  Aristocrat :  it's  past  that. 
I'm  come  to  say  this,  sir,  that  I  take  you  for  a  coward ;  and  that, 
unless  you  will  give  me  your  solemn  word  of  honour  not  to  mention 
a  word  of  this  quarrel  to  Miss  Gann,  which  might  prevent  our 
meeting,  I  will  never  leave  you  till  we  do  fight ! " 

"  This  is  outrageous,  sir !  Leave  the  room,  or  by  heavens  I'll 
not  meet  you  at  all !  " 

"Heasy,  sir;  easy,  I  beg  your  pardon,  I  can  force  you  to 
that ! " 

"  And  how,  pray,  sir  ? " 

"  Why,  in  the  first  place,  here's  a  stick,  and  I'll  'orsewhip  you  I 
and  here  are  a  pair  of  pistols,  and  we  can  fight  now  !  " 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  79 

"Well,  sir,  I  give  you  my  honour,"  said  Mr.  Brandon,  in  a 
diabolical  rage;  and  added,  "I'll  meet  you  to-morrow,  not  now; 
and  you  need  not  be  afraid  that  I'll  miss  you  ! " 

"Hadew,  sir,"  said  the  chivalrous  little  Fitch;  "bon  giomo, 
sir,  as  we  used  to  say  at  Rome."  And  so,  for  the  second  time,  he 
left  Mr.  Brandon,  who  did  not  like  very  well  the  extraordinary 
courage  he  had  displayed. 

"What  the  deuce  has  exasperated  the  fellow  soV  thought 
Brandon. 

Why,  in  the  first  place,  he  had  crossed  Fitch  in  love ;  and,  in 
the  second,  he  had  sneered  at  his  pronunciation  and  his  gentility, 
and  Fitch's  little  soul  was  in  a  fury  which  nothing  but  blood  would 
allay  :  he  was  determined,  for  the  sake  of  his  hart  and  his  lady,  to 
bring  this  proud  champion  down. 

So  Brandon  was  at  last  left  to  his  cogitations  :  when,  confusion  ! 
about  five  o'clock  came  another  knock  at  his  door. 
"  Come  in  !  "  growled  the  owner  of  the  lodgings. 
A  sallow,  blear-eyed,  rickety,  undersized  creature,  tottering 
upon  a  pair  of  high-heeled  lacquered  boots,  and  supporting  himself 
upon  an  immense  gold-knobbed  cane,  entered  the  room  with  his  hat 
on  one  side  and  a  jaunty  air.  It  Avas  a  white  hat  with  a  broad 
brim,  and  under  it  fell  a  great  deal  of  greasy  lank  hair  that  shrouded 
the  cheek-bones  of  the  wearer.  The  little  man  had  no  beard  to  his 
chin,  appeared  about  twenty  years  of  age,  and  might  weigh,  stick 
and  all,  some  seven  stone.  If  you  wish  to  know  how  this  exquisite 
was  dressed,  I  have  the  ])leasure  to  inform  you  that  he  wore  a  great 
sky-blue  embroidered  satin  stock,  in  the  which  figured  a  carbuncle 
that  looked  like  a  lambent  gooseberry.  He  had  a  shawl-waistcoat 
of  many  colours ;  a  pair  of  loose  blue  trousers,  neatly  strapped  to 
show  his  httle  feet :  a  brown  cutaway  coat  with  brass  buttons,  that 
fitted  tight  round  a  spider  waist ;  and  over  all  a  white  or  drab 
surtout,  with  a  sable  collar  and  cuff's,  from  which  latter  on  each 
hand  peeped  five  little  fingers  covered  with  lemon-coloured  kid 
gloves.  One  of  these  hands  he  held  constantly  to  his  little  chest : 
and,  with  a  hoarse  thin  voice,  he  ])iped  out — 
"  George  my  buck  !  how  goes  it  1 " 

We  have  been  thus  particular  in  our  description  of  the  costume 
of  tliis  individual  (whose  inward  man  strongly  corresponded  with 
his  manly  and  agreca))le  exterior)  because  lie  was  the  person  whom 
Mr.  Brandon  most  rcsjiected  in  the  world. 

"  CiNQBARS  !  "  exclaimed  our  hero  :  "  why,  what  the  deuce  has 
brought  you  to  Margate  1 " 

"  Fwendship,  my  old  cock ! "  said  the  Honourable  Augustus 
Frederick  Ringwood,  commonly  called  Viscount  Cinqbars,  for  indeed 


80  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

it  was  he.  "  Fwendsliip  and  the  City  of  Ganterbiiivy  steamer  !  "  and 
herewith  his  Lordsliip  held  out  his  rioht-hand  foreiinger  to  Brandon, 
who  enclosed  it  most  cordially  in  all  his.  "  Wathn't  it  good  of  me, 
now,  George,  to  come  down  and  conthole  you  in  thith  curthed 
thtupid  place — hay  now  1 "  said  my  Lord,  after  these  salutations. 

Brandon  swore  he  was  very  glad  to  see  him,  which  was  very 
true,  for  he  had  no  sooner  set  his  eyes  upon  his  Lordship,  than  he 
had  determined  to  borrow  as  much  money  from  him  as  ever  he 
could  induce  the  young  nobleman  to  part  with. 

"  I'll  tell  you  how  it  wath,  my  boy  :  you  thee  I  wath  th topping 
at  Long'th,  when  I  found,  ])y  Jove,  that  the  governor  wath  come 
to  town  !  Cuth  me  if  I  didn't  meet  the  infarnal  old  family  dwag, 
with  my  mother,  thithterth,  and  all,  atli  I  wath  dwiving  a  hack- 
cab  with  Polly  Tomkinth  in  the  Pawk  !  Tho  when  I  got  home, 
'  Hang  it ! '  thaith  I  to  Tuftlumt,  '  Tom  my  boy,'  thaith  I,  '  I've 
just  theen  the  governor,  and  must  be  off ! '  '  What,  back  to  Ockth- 
ford  1 '  thaith  Tom.  '  No,'  thaith  I,  '  that  rvon't  do.  Abroad— to 
Jewicho — -anywhere.  Egad,  I  have  it !  I'll  go  down  to  Margate 
and  thee  old  George,  that  I  will.'  And  tlio  off  I  came  the  very 
next  day ;  and  here  I  am,  and  thereth  dinner  waiting  for  uth 
at  the  hotel,  and  thixth  bottleth  of  champagne  in  ithe,  and  thum 
thalmon  :  tho  you  mutht  come." 

To  this  proposition  Mr.  Brandon  readily  agreed,  being  glad 
enough  of  the  prospect  of  a  good  dinner  and  some  jovial  society, 
for  he  was  low  and  disturbed  in  spirits,  and  so  promised  to  dine 
with  his  friend  at  the  "  Sun." 

The  two  gentlemen  conversed  for  some  time  longer.  Mr. 
Brandon  was  a  shrewd  fellow,  and  knew  perfectly  well  a  fact  of 
which,  no  doubt,  the  reader  has  a  notion — namely,  that  Lord 
Cinqbars  was  a  ninny  ;  but,  nevertheless,  Brandon  esteemed  him 
highly  as  a  lord.  We  pardon  stupidity  in  lords ;  nature  or  instinct, 
however  sarcastic  a  man  may  be  among  ordinary  persons,  renders 
him  towards  men  of  quality  benevolently  blind :  a  divinity  hedges 
not  only  the  king,  but  the  whole  peerage. 

"That's  the  girl,  I  suppose,"  said  my  Lord,  knowingly  winking 
at  Brandon  :  "  that  little  pale  girl,  who  let  me  in,  I  mean.  A  nice 
little  filly,  upon  my  honour,  Georgy  my  buck  !  " 

"  Oh — that — yes — I  wrote,  I  think,  something  about  her,"  said 
Brandon,  blushing  slightly  ;  for,  indeed,  he  now  began  to  wish  that 
his  friend  should  make  no  comments  upon  a  young  lady  with  whom 
he  was  so  much  in  love. 

"I  suppose  it's  all  up  now?"  continued  my  Lord,  looking  still 
more  knowing.  "  All  over  with  her,  hay  1  I  saw  it  was  by  her 
looks,  in  a  minute." 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       81 

"  Indeed  you  do  me  a  great  deal  too  much  honour.  Miss — ah, 
— Miss  Gaun  is  a  very  respectable  young  person,  and  I  would  not 
for  the  world  have  you  to  sup])0se  that  I  would  do  anything  that 
sliould  the  least  injure  her  character." 

At  this  speech,  Lord  Cinqbars  was  at  first  nuich  puzzled  ;  but, 
in  considering  it,  was  fully  convinced  that  Brandon  was  a  decjier 
dog  than  ever.  Boiling  with  impatience  to  know  the  particulars 
of  this  delicate  intrigue,  this  cunning  diplomatist  determined  he 
would  pump  the  whole  story  out  of  Brandon  by  degrees ;  and  so,  in 
the  course  of  half-an-hour's  conversation  that  the  young  men  had 
together,  Ciniibars  did  not  make  less  than  forty  allusions  to  the 
subject  that  interested  him.  At  last  Brandon  cut  him  short  rather 
haughtily,  by  begging  that  he  would  make  no  further  allusions  to 
the  subject,  as  it  was  one  that  was  excessively  disagreeable  to  him. 

In  fact,  there  was  no  mistake  about  it  now.  George  Brandon 
was  in  love  with  Caroline.  He  felt  that  he  was  while  he  blushed 
at  his  friend's  alluding  to  her,  while  he  grew  indignant  at  the  young 
lord's  coarse  banter  about  her. 

Turning  the  conversation  to  another  point,  he  asked  Cinqbars 
about  his  voyage,  and  whether  he  had  brought  any  companion  with 
him  to  Margate ;  whereupon  my  Lord  related  all  his  feats  in 
London,  how  he  had  been  to  the  watchhouse,  how  many  bottles  of 
champagne  he  had  drunk,  how  he  had  "milled"  a  policeman, 
&c.  &c.  ;  and  he  concluded  by  saying  that  he  had  come  down  with 
Tom  Tufthunt,  who  was  at  the  inn  at  that  very  moment  smoking 
a  cigar. 

This  did  not  increase  Brandon's  good-hmnour ;  and  when 
Cinqbars  mentioned  his  friend's  name,  Brandon  saluted  it  mentally 
with  a  hearty  curse.  These  two  gentlemen  hated  each  otlier  of  old. 
Tufthunt  was  a  small  college  man  of  no  family,  with  a  foundation 
fellowship ;  and  it  used  to  be  considered  that  a  sporting  fellow  of  a 
small  college  was  a  sad  raftisli  disreputable  character.  Tufthunt, 
tlien,  was  a  vulgar  fellow,  and  Brandim  a  gentleman,  so  they  hated 
each  other.  They  were  l)oth  toadies  of  the  same  nobleman,  so  they 
hated  each  otlier.  Tliey  had  had  some  (juarrel  at  college  about  a 
disputed  bet,  -which  Brandon  knew  he  owed,  and  so  they  hated  each 
other;  and  in  their  words  about  it  Bnuidon  had  threatened  to 
horsewhip  Tufthunt,  and  called  him  a  "  sneaking,  swindling,  small 
college  snob ; "  and  so  little  Tufthunt,  who  had  not  resented  the 
words,  hated  Brandon  far  more  than  Brandon  hated  him.  The 
latter  only  had  a  contempt  for  his  rival,  and  voted  him  a  i)rofound 
bore  and  vulgarian. 

So,  although  Mr.  Tufthunt  (Hd  not  clioose  to  frequent  Mr. 
Brandon's  rooms,  he  was  very  anxious  that  his  friend,  the  young 


82  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

lord,  should  not  fall  into  his  old  bear-leader's  hands  again,  and  came 
down  to  Margate  to  counteract  any  influence  which  the  arts  of 
Brandon  might  acquire. 

"  Curse  the  fellow  ! "  thought  Tufthunt  in  his  heart  (there  was 
a  fine  reciprocity  of  curses  between  the  two  men) ;  "he  has  drawn 
Cinqbars  already  for  fifty  pounds  this  year,  and  will  have  some  half 
of  his  last  remittance,  if  I  don't  keep  a  look-out,  the  swindling 
thief!" 

And  so  frightened  was  Tufthunt  at  the  notion  of  Brandon's 
return  to  power  and  dishonest  use  of  it,  that  he  was  at  the  time 
on  the  point  of  writing  to  Lord  Ringwood  to  tell  him  of  his  son's 
doings,  only  he  wanted  some  money  deucedly  himself.  Of  Mr. 
Tufthimt's  j^hysique  and  history  it  is  necessary  merely  to  say,  that 
he  was  the  son  of  a  country  attorney  who  was  agent  to  a  lord ;  he 
had  been  sent  to  a  foundation  school,  where  he  distinguished  himself 
for  ten  years,  by  fighting  and  being  flogged  more  than  any  boy  of 
the  five  hundred.  From  the  foundation  school  he  went  to  college 
with  an  exhibition,  which  was  succeeded  by  a  fellowship,  which  was 
to  end  in  a  living.  In  his  person  Mr.  Tufthunt  was  short  and 
bow-legged ;  he  wore  a  sort  of  clerico-si)orting  costume,  consisting 
of  a  black  straight-cut  coat  and  light  drab  breeches,  with  a  vast 
number  of  buttons  at  the  ankles ;  a  sort  of  dress  much  aftectioned 
by  sporting  gentlemen  of  the  university  in  the  author's  time. 

Well,  Brandon  said  he  had  some  letters  to  write,  and  promised 
to  follow  his  frienil,  which  he  did ;  but,  if  the  truth  must  be  told, 
so  infatuated  was  the  young  man  become  with  his  passion,  with  the 
resistance  he  had  met  with,  and  so  nervous  from  the  various 
occurrences  of  the  morning,  that  he  passed  the  half-hour  during 
which  he  was  free  from  Cinqbars'  society  in  kneeling,  imploring, 
weeping  at  Caroline's  little  garret  door,  which  had  remained 
pitilessly  closed  to  him.  He  was  wild  with  disappointment,  morti- 
fication—mad, longing  to  see  her.  The  cleverest  coquette  in 
Europe  could  not  have  so  inflamed  him.  His  first  act  on  entering 
the  dinner-room  was  to  drink  off  a  large  tumbler  of  champagne  ; 
and  when  Cinqbars,  in  his  elegant  way,  began  to  rally  him  upon 
his  wildness,  Mr.  Brandon  only  growled  and  cursed  with  frightful 
vehemency,  and  applied  again  to  the  bottle.  His  face,  which  had 
l)een  quite  white,  grew  a  bright  red  ;  his  tongue,  which  had  been 
tied,  began  to  chatter  vehemently  ;  before  the  fish  was  off  the  table, 
Mr.  Brandon  showed  strong  symptoms  of  intoxication ;  before  the 
dessert  appeared,  Mr.  Tufthunt,  winking  knowingly  to  Lord 
Cinqbars,  had  begun  to  draw  him  out ;  and  Brandon,  with  a 
number  of  shrieks  and  oaths,  was  narrating  the  history  of  his 
attachment. 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       83 

"  Look  you,  Tufthunt,"  said  he  wildly ;  "  hang  you,  I  hate 
you,  but  I  must  talk !  I've  been,  for  two  months  now,  in  this 
cursed  hole ;  in  a  rickety  lodging,  with  a  vulgar  family ;  as  vulgar, 
by  Jove,  as  you  are  yourself !  " 

Mr.  Tufthunt  did  not  like  this  style  of  address  half  so  much 
as  Lord  Ciuqbars,  who  was  laughing  immoderately,  and  to  whom 
Tufthunt  whispered  rather  sheepishly,  "  Pooh,  pooh,  he's  drunk  !  " 

"  Drunk !  no,  sir,"  yelled  out  Brandon ;  "  I'm  mad,  though, 
with  the  prudery  of  a  little  devil  of  fifteen,  who  has  cost  me  more 
trouble  than  it  would  take  me  to  seduce  every  one  of  your  sisters — 
ha,  ha !  every  one  of  the  Miss  Tufthunts,  by  Jove  !  Miss  Suky 
Tufthunt,  Miss  Dolly  Tufthunt,  Miss  Anna-Maria  Tufthunt,  and 
the  whole  bunch.  Come,  sir,  don't  sit  scowling  at  me,  or  111  brain 
you  Avith  the  decanter."  (Tuftluint  was  down  again  on  the  sofa.) 
"  I've  borne  with  the  girl's  mother,  and  her  father,  and  her  sisters, 
and  a  cook  in  the  house,  and  a  scoundrel  of  a  painter,  that  I'm 
going  to  fight  about  her;  and  for  what? — w'hy,  for  a  letter,  which 
says,  'George,  I'll  kill  myself!     George,  I'll  kill  myself!' — ha,  ha! 

a  little  devil  like  tiiat  hilling  herself ha,  ha  !  and  I — I  who — 

who  adore  her,  who  am  mad  for " 

"Mad,  I  believe  he  is,"  said  Tufthunt;  and  at  this  moment 
Mr.  Brandon  was  giving  the  most  unetjuivocal  signs  of  madness ;  he 
plunged  his  head  into  the  corner  of  the  sofo,  and  was  kicking  his 
feet  violently  into  the  (cushions. 

"  You  don't  imderstand  him,  Tufty  my  boy,"  said  Lord  Cinqbars, 
with  a  very  superior  air.  "  You  ain't  up  to  these  things,  I  tell 
you ;  and  I  suspect,  by  Jove,  that  you  never  were  in  love  in  your 
life.  /  know  what  it  is,  sir.  And  as  for  Brandon,  Heaven  bless 
you !  I've  often  seen  him  in  that  way  when  we  were  abroad. 
When  he  has  an  intrigue,  he's  mad  about  it.  Let  me  see,  there 
was  the  Countess  Fritzch,  at  Baden-Baden  ;  there  was  the  woman 
at  Pau  ;  and  that  girl — at  Paris,  was  it  % — no,  at  Vienna.  He 
went  on  just  so  about  them  all  ;  but  I'll  tell  you  wh:it,  when  we 
do  the  thing,  we  do  it  easier,  my  boy,  hay  % " 

And  so  saying,  my  Lord  cocked  up  his  little  sallow  licaidlcss 
face  into  a  grin,  and  then  fell  to  eyeing  a  glass  of  execrabit!  claret 
across  a  candle.  An  iitfrif/iie,  as  he  called  it,  was  the  little 
creature's  delight  ;  and  \nitil  the  time  should  arrive  when  he  could 
have  one  iiimself,  lie  loved  to  talk  of  those  of  his  friends. 

As  for  Tufthunt,  we  may  fancy  liow  that  gentleman's  previous 
affection  for  Brandon  was  increased  by  the  hitter's  brutal  addresses 
to  liini.  Brandon  contiinuHl  to  drink  and  to  talk,  though  not 
always  in  the  sentinieiital  way  in  which  he  had  sjioken  aliout  his 
loves   and    injuries.      Growing    presently    niadl.v    jocose   as    lie   had 


84  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

before  been  madly  melancholy,  he  narrated  to  the  two  gentlemen 
the  particulars  of  his  quarrel  with  Fitch,  mimicking  the  little 
painter's  manner  in  an  excessively  comic  way,  and  giving  the  most 
ludicrous  account  of  his  person,  kept  his  companions  in  a  roar  of 
laughter.  Cinqbars  swore  that  he  would  see  the  fun  in  tlie  morning, 
and  agreed  that  if  the  painter  wanted  a  second,  either  lie  or  Tufthunt 
would  act  for  him. 

Now  my  Lord  Cinqbars  had  an  excessively  clever  servant,  a 
merry  rogue,  whom  he  had  discovered  in  the  humble  capacity  of 
scout's  assistant  at  Christchurch,  and  raised  to  be  his  valet.  The 
chief  duties  of  the  valet  were  to  black  his  lord's  beautiful  boots, 
that  we  have  admired  so  much,  and  put  his  Lordship  to  bed  when 
overtaken  with  liquor.  He  heard  every  word  of  the  young  men's 
talk  (it  being  his  habit,  much  encouraged  by  his  master,  to  join 
occasionally  in  the  conversation) ;  and  in  the  course  of  the  night, 
when  at  supper  with  Monsieur  Donnerwetter  and  Mdlle.  Augustine, 
he  related  every  word  of  the  talk  abovestairs,  mimicking  Brandon 
quite  as  cleverly  as  the  latter  had  mimicked  Fitch.  When  then, 
after  making  his  company  laugh  by  describing  Brandon's  love-agonies, 
Mr.  Tom  informed  them  how  that  gentleman  had  a  rival,  with 
whom  he  was  going  to  fight  a  duel  the  next  morning — an  artist- 
fellow  with  an  immense  beard,  whose  name  was  Fitch,  to  his 
surprise  Mdlle.  Augustine  burst  into  a  scream  of  laughter,  and 
exclaimed,  "  Feesh,  Feesh  !  c'est  notre  homvie — it  is  our  man,  sare  ! 
Saladin,  remember  you  Mr.  Fisli  ? " 

Saladin  said  gravely,  "  Missa  Fis,  Missa  Fis !  know  'um  quite 
well,  Missa  Fis  !  Painter-man,  big  beard,  gib  Saladin  bit  injyrubby. 
Missis  lub  Missa  Fis  ! " 

It  was  too  true :  the  fat  lady  was  the  famous  Mrs.  Caerick- 
FERGUS,  and  she  had  come  all  the  way  from  Rome  in  pursuit  of  her 
adored  painter. 


CHAPTER   IX 

WHICH  THREATENS  DEATH,    BUT  CONTAINS  A  GREAT 
DEAL  OF  MARRYING 

AS  the  morrow  was  to  be  an  eventful  day  in  the  lives  of  all  the 
heroes  and  heroines  of  this  history,  it  will  be  as  well  to  state 
'  how  they  passed  the  night  previous.  Brandon,  like  the 
English  before  the  battle  of  Hastings,  spent  the  evening  in  feasting 
and  carousing;  and  Lord  Ciiiqbars,  at  twelve  o'clock,  his  usual 
time  after  his  usual  quantity  of  drink,  was  carried  up  to  bed  by  tlie 
servant  kept  by  his  Lordship  for  that  purpose.  Mr.  Tufthunt  took 
this  as  a  hint  to  wish  Brandon  good-night,  at  the  same  time  pro- 
mising that  he  and  Cinqbars  would  not  fail  him  in  the  morning 
about  the  duel. 

Shall  we  confess  that  Mr.  Brandon,  whose  excitement  now 
began  to  wear  oft",  and  who  had  a  dreadful  headache,  did  not  at  all 
relish  tlie  idea  of  the  morrow's  combat '? 

"  If,"  said  he,  "  I  shoot  this  crack-brained  painter,  all  the  world 
will  cry  out  '  Murder  ! '  If  he  shoot  me,  all  the  world  will  laugh 
at  me !  And  yet,  confound  him  !  he  seems  so  bent  upon  blood, 
that  tliere  is  no  escaping  a  meeting." 

"At  any  rate,"  Brandon  thought,  "  there  will  be  no  harm  in  a 
letter  to  Caroline."  So,  oti  amving  at  home,  he  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  very  pathetic  one ;  saying  that  he  fought  in  her  cause,  and 
if  he  di(!d,  his  last  breath  siiould  be  for  her.  So  having  written,  he 
jumi)ed  into  bed,  and  did  not  sleep  one  single  wink  all  night. 

As  Brandon  passed  his  night  like  the  Englisli,  Fitch  went 
through  his  like  tlie  Normans,  in  fasting,  and  mortification,  and 
meditation.  The  poor  fellow  likewise  indited  a  letter  to  Caroline  : 
a  very  long  and  strong  one,  interspersed  with  pieces  of  poetry,  and 
containing  the  words  we  have  just  heard  him  utter  out  of  the 
window.  Then  he  thought  about  making  his  will :  but  he  recol- 
lected, and,  indeed,  it  was  a  bitter  thought  to  the  young  man,  that 
there  was  not  one  single  soul  in  the  wide  world  who  cared  for  him 
- — except,  indeed,  thought  he,  after  a  pause,  that  poor  Mrs.  Carrick- 
fergus  at  Rome,  who  did  like  me,  and  was  the  only  person  who 
ever  bouglit  my  drawings.      So  lu;  maiU;  over  all  his  sketches  to 


86  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

her,  regulated  his  little  property,  found  that  he  had  money  enough 
to  pay  his  washerwoman ;  and  so,  having  disposed  of  his  worldly 
concerns,  Mr.  Fitch  also  jumped  into  bed,  and  speedily  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep.  Brandon  could  hear  him  snoring  all  night,  and  did  not 
feel  a  bit  the  more  comfortable  because  his  antagonist  took  matters 
so  unconcernedly. 

Indeed,  our  poor  painter  had  no  guilty  thoughts  in  his  breast, 
nor  any  particular  revenge  against  Brandon,  now  that  the  first 
pangs  of  mortified  vanity  were  over.  But,  with  all  his  vagaries, 
lie  was  a  man  of  spirit ;  and  after  what  had  passed  in  the  morning, 
the  treason  that  had  been  done  him,  and  the  insults  heaped  upon 
him,  he  felt  that  the  duel  was  irrevocable.  He  had  a  misty  notion, 
imbibed  somewhere,  that  it  was  the  part  of  a  gentleman's  duty  to 
fight  duels,  and  had  long  been  seeking  for  an  opportunity.  "  Sup- 
pose I  do  die,"  said  he,  "  what's  the  odds  1  Caroline  doesn't  care  for 
me.  Dr.  Wackerbart's  boys  won't  have  their  drawing-lesson  next 
Wednesday  ;  and  no  more  will  be  said  of  poor  Andrea." 

And  now  for  the  garret.  Caroline  was  wrapped  up  in  her  own 
woes,  poor  little  soul !  and  in  the  arms  of  the  faithful  Becky  cried 
herself  to  sleep.  But  the  slow  hours  passed  on  ;  and  the  tide, 
which  had  been  out,  now  came  in  ;  and  the  lamps  waxed  fainter 
and  fainter  ;  and  the  watchman  cried  six  o'clock  ;  and  the  sun  arose 
and  gilded  the  minarets  of  Margate ;  and  Becky  got  up  and  scoured 
the  steps,  and  the  kitchen,  and  made  ready  the  lodgers'  breakfasts ; 
aTid  at  half-past  eight  there  came  a  thundering  rap  at  the  door, 
and  two  gentlemen,  one  with  a  mahogany  case  under  his  arm,  asked 
for  Mr.  Brandon,  and  were  shown  up  to  his  room  by  the  astonished 
Becky,  who  was  bidden  by  Mr.  Brandon  to  get  breakfast  for  three. 

The  thundering  rap  awakened  Mr.  Fitch,  who  rose  and  dressed 
himself  in  his  best  clothes,  gave  a  twist  of  the  curling-tongs  to  his 
beard,  and  conducted  himself  throughout  with  perfect  coolness.  Nine 
o'clock  struck,  and  he  wrapped  his  cloak  round  him,  and  put  under 
his  cloak  that  pair  of  foils  which  we  have  said  he  possessed,  and 
did  not  know  in  the  least  how  to  use.  However,  he  had  heard  his 
camarades  d'atelier,  at  Paris  and  Rome,  say  that  they  were  the 
best  weapons  for  duelling ;  and  so  forth  he  issued. 

Becky  was  in  the  passage  as  he  passed  down ;  she  was  always 
scrubbing  there.  "  Becky,"  said  Fitch,  in  a  hollow  voice,  "  here  is 
a  letter ;  if  I  should  not  return  in  half-an-hour,  give  it  to  Miss 
Gann,  and  promise  on  your  honour  that  she  shall  not  have  it  sooner." 
Becky  promised.  She  thought  the  painter  was  at  some  of  his  mad 
tricks.     He  went  out  of  the  door  saluting  her  gravely. 

But  he  went  only  a  few  steps  and  came  back  again.  "  Becky," 
said  he,   "  you — you've  always  been  a  good  girl  to  me,  and  here's 


A    SHABJBY    GENTEEL    STORY  87 

something  for  you;  per'aps  we  shan't — we  shan't  see  each  other 
for  some  time."  The  tears  were  in  his  eyes  as  he  spoke,  and  he 
handed  her  over  seven  shillings  and  fourpence  halfpenny,  being  every 
farthing  he  possessed  in  the  world. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  !  "  said  Becky  ;  and  that  was  all  she  said,  for 
she  pocketed  the  money,  and  fell  to  scrubbing  again. 

Presently  the  three  gentlemen  upstairs  came  clattering  down. 
"  Lawk  bless  you,  don't  be  in  such  a  'urry  ! "  exclaimed  Becky ; 
"  it's  ftdl  lierly  yet,  and  tlie  water's  not  biling." 

"  We'll  come  back  to  breakfast,  my  dear,"  said  one,  a  little 
gentleman  in  high-heeled  boots  ;  "  and,  I  thay,  mind  and  have  thum 
thoda-water."  And  he  walked  out,  twirling  his  cane.  His  friend 
with  the  case  followed  him.     Mr.  Brandon  came  last. 

He  too  turned  back  after  he  had  gone  a  few  paces.  "  Becky," 
said  he,  in  a  grave  voice,  "if  I  am  not  back  in  half-an-hour,  give 
that  to  Miss  Gann." 

Becky  was  fairly  flustered  by  this  ;  and  after  turning  the  letters 
round  and  round,  and  peeping  into  the  sides,  and  looking  at  the 
seals  very  hard,  she  like  a  fool  determined  that  she  would  not  wait 
half-an-hour,  but  carry  them  up  to  Miss  Caroline ;  and  so  up  she 
mounted,  fmdiug  pretty  Caroline  in  the  act  of  lacing  her  stays. 

And  the  consequences  of  Becky's  conduct  was  that  little  Carry 
left  off  lacing  her  stays  (a  sweet  little  figure  the  poor  thing  looked 
in  them  ;  but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there),  took  the  letters,  looked 
at  one  which  she  threw  down  dii-ectly ;  at  the  other,  which  she 
eagerly  opened,  and  liaving  read  a  line  or  two,  gave  a  loud  scream, 
and  fell  down  dead  in  a  fainting  fit. 

Waft  us,  0  Muse  !  to  Mr.  Wright's  hotel,  and  quick  narrate 
what  cliances  there  befell.  Very  early  in  the  morning  Mdlle. 
Augustine  made  her  ajipearance  in  the  a])artment  of  Miss  Runt, 
and  with  great  glee  informed  that  lady  of  the  event  which  Avas  about 
to  take  place.  "  Figurez-vous,  iiiadcmoiselle,  (pie  notre  honune  va 
SB  battre — oh,  but  it  will  be  droll  to  see  him  sword  in  hand  ! " 

"Don't  plague  me  with  your  ojous  servants'  quarrels,  Augus- 
tine ;  that  horrid  courier  is  always  quarrelling  and  tipsy." 

"Mon  Dicu,  qu'elle  est  bete!"  exclaimed  Augustine:  "but  I 
tell  you  it  is  not  the  courier ;  it  is  he,  I'objot,  le  peintre  dont 
madanie  s'cst  aniouracliee.  Monsieur  Feesli." 

"  Mr.  Fitcli ! "  cried  Runt,  jumi)ing  up  in  bed.  "  Mr.  Fitch 
going  to  fight !  Augustine,  my  stockings — quick,  my  rohe<le- 
chamhre — tell  me  when,  how,  where  1 " 

And  so  Augustine  told  her  fluit  tlic  (•i)nil)at  was  to  take  place 
at  nine  that  morning,  licliind  iht"  Wiiidniill,  and  that  tlie  gentleman 


88  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

with  whom  Mr.  Fitch  was  to  go  out  had  been  dining  at  the  hotel 
the  night  previous,  in  company  with  the  little  milor,  who  was  to  be 
his  second. 

Quick  as  lightning  flew  Runt  to  the  chamber  of  her  patroness. 
That  lady  was  in  a  profound  sleep  ;  and  I  leave  you  to  imagine 
what  were  her  sensations  on  awaking  and  hearing  this  dreadful 
tale. 

Such  is  the  force  of  love,  that  although  for  many  years  Mrs. 
Carrickfergus  had  never  left  her  bed  before  noon,  although  in  all 
her  wild  wanderings  after  the  painter  she,  nevertheless,  would  have 
her  tea  and  cutlet  in  bed,  and  her  doze  likewise,  before  she  set  forth 
on  a  journey — she  now  started  up  in  an  instant,  forgetting  her  nap, 
mutton-chops,  everytliing,  and  began  dressing  with  a  promptitude 
wliich  can  only  be  equalled  by  Harlequin  when  disguising  himself 
in  a  pantomime.  She  would  have  had  an  attack  of  nerves,  only  she 
knew  there  was  no  time  for  it ;  and  I  do  believe  that  twenty  minutes 
were  scarcely  over  her  head,  as  the  saying  is,  when  her  bonnet  and 
cloak  were  on,  and  with  her  whole  suite,  and  an  inn-waiter  or  two 
whom  she  pressed  into  her  service,  she  was  on  full  trot  to  the  field 
of  action.  For  twenty  years  before,  and  from  that  day  to  this, 
Marianne  Carrickfergus  never  had  or  has  walked  so  quickly. 

"  Hullo,  here'th  a  go ! "  exclaimed  Lord  Viscount  Cinqbars,  as 
they  arrived  on  the  gi'ound  behind  the  Windmill ;  "  cuth  me,  there'th 
only  one  man  !  " 

This  was  indeed  the  case ;  Mr.  Fitch,  in  his  great  cloak,  was 
pacing  slowly  up  and  down  the  grass,  his  shadow  stretching  far  in 
tlie  sunshine.  Mr.  Fitch  was  alone  too ;  for  the  fact  is,  he  had 
never  thought  about  a  second.  This  he  admitted  frankly,  bowing 
with  much  majesty  to  the  company  as  they  came  up.  "  But  tliat, 
gents,"  said  he,  "will  make  no  ditference,  I  hope,  nor  prevent  fair 
play  from  being  done."  And,  flinging  otf  his  cloak,  he  produced 
the  foils,  from  which  the  buttons  had  been  taken  off".  He  went  up 
to  Brandon,  and  was  for  offering  liim  one  of  the  weajjons,  just  as 
they  do  at  the  theatre.  Brandon  stepped  back,  ratlier  abashed  ; 
Cinqbars  looked  posed  ;  Tufthunt  deliglited.  "  Ecod,"  said  he, 
"  I  hope  the  bearded  fellow  will  give  it  him." 

"  Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Brandon  ;  "  as  the  challenged  party, 
I  demand  pistols." 

Mr.  Fitch,  with  great  presence  of  mind  and  gracefulness,  stuck 
the  swords  into  tlie  grass. 

"  Oh,  pithtolth  of  courth,"  lisped  my  Lord  ;  and  presently  called 
aside  Tufthunt,  to  whom  he  wliispered  something  in  great  glee ;  to 
which  Tufthunt  objected  at  first,  saying,  "  No,  d him,  let  him 


A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY  89 

fight."  "And  your  fellowship  and  living,  Tufty  my  boy  ? "  inter- 
posed my  Lord ;  and  then  they  walked  on.  After  a  coui)le  of 
minutes,  during  which  Mr.  Fitch  was  employed  in  examining  Mr. 
Brandon  from  the  toe  upwards  to  the  crown  of  his  head,  or  hat, 
just  as  Mr.  Widdicombe  does  Mr.  Cartlich,  before  those  two  gentle- 
men proceed  to  join  in  combat  on  the  boards  of  Astley's  Amphi- 
theatre (indeed  ])oor  Fitch  had  no  other  standard  of  chivalry) — 
when  Fitch  had  concluded  this  examination,  of  which  Brandon  did 
not  know  what  the  deuce  to  make,  Lord  Ciuqbars  came  back  to  the 
painter,  and  gave  him  a  nod. 

"  Sir,"  said  he,  "  as  you  have  come  unprovided  with  a  second, 
I,  with  your  leave,  will  act  as  one.  My  name  is  Cinqbars — Lord 
Cinqbars ;  and  though  I  had  come  to  the  ground  to  act  as  the 
friend  of  my  friend  here,  Mr.  Tufthunt  will  take  that  duty  upon 
him  ;  and  as  it  appears  to  me  there  can  be  no  other  end  to  this 
unhappy  affair,  we  ^\'ill  proceed  at  once." 

It  is  a  marvel  how  Lord  Cin(|bars  ever  made  such  a  gentlemanly 
speech.  When  Fitcli  heard  that  he  w^as  to  have  a  lord  for  a  seconcl, 
he  laid  his  hand  on  his  chest,  and  vowed  it  was  the  greatest  h-honour 
of  his  life ;  and  was  turning  round  to  walk  towards  his  ground, 
when  my  Lord,  gracefully  thrusting  his  tongue  into  his  cheek,  and 
bringing  his  thumb  up  to  his  nose,  twiddled  about  his  fingers  for  a 
moment,  and  said  to  Brandon,  "  Gammon  !  " 

Mr.  Brandon  smiled,  and  heaved  a  great,  deep,  refreshing  sigh. 
The  truth  was,  a  load  was  taken  off  his  mind,  of  wdiich  he  was 
very  glad  to  be  rid  ;  for  there  was  something  in  the  coolness  of 
that  crazy  painter  that  our  fashionable  gentleman  did  not  at  all 
ajjprove  of. 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Tufthunt,"  said  Lord  Cin(ibars,  very  loud,  "  that 
considering  the  gravity  of  the  case — threatening  horse-whipping, 
you  know,  lie  on  both  sides,  and  lady  in  the  case — I  think  we  nuist 
have  the  barrier-duel." 

"  What's  tliat  1 "  asked  Fitch. 

"  The  simplest  thing  in  the  worhl ;  and,"  in  a  whisper,  "  let  me 
add,  the  best  for  you.  Look  here.  We  shall  put  you  at  twenty 
paces  and  a  hat  between  you.  You  walk  forward  and  fire  when 
you  like.  AYhen  you  fire,  you  stop ;  and  you  both  have  the 
liberty  of  walkhig  up  to  the  hat.  Nothing  can  be  more  fair  than 
that." 

"Very  well,"  said  Fitch  ;  and,  with  a  great  deal  nf  prei)aration, 
the  ])istols  Avere  loaded. 

"I  tell  you  what,"  whispered  ( Jiiuibars  to  Fitili,  "if  I  hadn't 
chosen  this  way  you  were  a  dead  man.  If  he  fires  he  hits  you 
dead.      You  nuist  not  let  him  fire,  but  have  iiini  down  first." 


90       A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY 

"  I'll  try,"  said  Fitch,  who  was  a  little  pale,  and  thanked  his 
noble  friend  for  his  counsel.  The  hat  was  placed  and  the  men  took 
their  places. 

"  Are  you  all  ready  1 " 

"  Ready,"  said  Brandon. 

"Advance  when  I  drop  my  handkerchief."  And  presently 
down  it  fell,  Lord  Cinqbars  crying,  "  Now  !  " 

The  combatants  both  advanced,  each  covering  his  man.  When 
he  had  gone  about  six  paces.  Fitch  stopped,  fired,  and — missed. 
He  grasped  his  pistol  tightly,  for  he  was  very  near  dropping  it ; 
and  then  stood  biting  his  lips,  and  looking  at  Brandon,  who  grinned 
savagely,  and  walked  up  to  the  hat. 

"  Will  you  retract  what  you  said  of  me  yesterday,  you  villain  ? " 
said  Brandon. 

"  I  can't." 

"Will  you  beg  for  life?" 

"  No." 

"  Then  take  a  minute,  and  make  your  peace  with  God,  for  you 
are  a  dead  man." 

Fitch  dropped  his  pistol  to  the  ground,  shut  his  eyes  for  a 
moment,  and  flinging  up  his  chest  and  clenching  his  fists,  said, 
"  JVo7v  I'm  ready." 

Brandon  ^fired — and  strange  to  say,  Andrea  Fitch,  as  he  gasped 
and  staggered  backwards,  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  Mr.  Brandon's 
pistol  flying  up  in  the  air,  where  it  went  ofi^,  and  heard  that 
gentleman  yell  out  an  immense  oath  in  a  very  audible  voice. 
When  he  came  to  himself,  a  thick  stick  was  lying  at  Brandon's 
feet ;  Mr.  Brandon  was  capering  about  the  ground,  and  cursing  and 
shaking  a  maimed  elbow,  and  a  whole  posse  of  people  were  rushing 
upon  them.  The  first  was  the  great  German  courier,  who  rushed 
upon  Brandon,  and  shook  that  gentleman,  and  shouting,  "  Schelm  ! 
spitzbube  !  blagard  !  goward  !  "  in  his  ear.  "  If  I  had  not  drown 
my  stick  and  brogen  his  damt  arm,  he  wod  have  murdered  dat  boor 
young  man." 

The  German's  speech  contained  two  unfounded  assertions  :  in 
the  first  place  Brandon  would  not  have  murdered  Fitch ;  and, 
secondly,  his  arm  was  not  broken — he  had  merely  received  a  blow 
on  that  part  which  anatomists  call  the  funny  bone :  a  severe  blow, 
which  sent  the  pistol  spinning  into  the  air,  and  caused  the  gentle- 
man to  scream  with  pain.  Two  waiters  seized  upon  the  murderer, 
too ;  a  baker,  who  had  been  brought  from  his  rounds,  a  bellman, 
several  boys, — were  yelling  round  him,  and  shouting  out,  "  Pole- 
e-eace  ! " 

Next  to  these  came,  panting  and  blowing,  some  women.      Could 


A  SHABBY  GENTEEL  STORY       91 

Fitch  believe  his  oycs  1 — that  fat  woman  in  red  satin  ! — Yes — no — 
yes — lie  was,  he  was  in  the  arms  of  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  ! 

The  particulars  of  this  meeting  are  too  delicate  to  relate. 
Suffice  it  that  somehow  matters  were  explained,  Mr.  Brandon  was 
let  loose,  and  a  tly  was  presently  seen  to  drive  up,  into  which  Mr. 
Fitch  consented  to  enter  with  his  new-found  friend. 

Brandon  had  some  good  movements  in  him.  As  Fitch  was 
getting  into  the  carriage,  he  walked  up  to  him  and  held  out  his  left 
hand :  "  I  can't  offer  you  my  right  hand,  Mr.  Fitch,  for  that  cursed 
courier's  stick  has  maimed  it ;  but  I  hope  you  will  allow  me  to 
apologise  for  my  shameful  conduct  to  you,  and  to  say  that  I  never 
in  my  life  met  a  more  gallant  fellow  than  yourself." 

"  That  he  is,  by  Jove  !  "  said  my  Lord  Cincjbars. 

Fitch  blushed  as  red  as  a  peony  and  trembled  very  much. 
"  And  yet,"  said  he,  "  you  would  have  murdered  me  just  now,  Mr. 
Brandon.     I  can't  take  your  'and,  sir." 

"  Why,  you  great  flat,"  said  my  Lord  wisely,  "  he  couldn't 
have  hurt  you,  nor  you  him.  There  Avath  no  ballth  in  the 
pithtolth." 

"  What,"  said  Fitch,  starting  back,  "  do  you  gents  call  that  a 
joke  ?  Oh,  my  Lord,  my  Lord  !  "  And  here  poor  Fitch  actually 
burst  into  tears  on  the  red  satin  bosom  of  Mrs.  Carrickfergus  :  she 
and  Miss  Runt  were  crying  as  hard  as  they  could.  And  so,  amidst 
much  shouting  and  huzzaing,  the  fly  drove  away. 

"  What  a  blubbering  abthurd  donkey  ! "  said  Cinqbars,  with  his 
usual  judgment ;  "ain't  he,  Tufthunf?" 

Tufthunt,  of  course,  said  yes ;  but  Brandon  was  in  a  virtuous 
mood.  "  By  heavens !  I  think  his  tears  do  the  man  honour. 
When  I  came  out  with  him  this  morning,  I  intended  to  act  fairly 
by  him.  And  as  for  Mr.  Tufthunt,  who  calls  a  man  a  coward 
because  he  cries — Mr.  Tufthunt  knows  well  what  a  pistol  is,  and 
that  some  men  don't  care  to  face  it,  brave  as  they  are." 

Mr.  Tufthunt  unch^rstood  the  hint,  and  bit  his  lips  and  walked 

on.      And  as  for  that  worthy  moralist,  Mr.  Brandon,  I  am  hapjiy 

to  say  that  there  was  some  good  fortune  in  store  for  him,  wliich, 

'  though  similar  in  kind  to  that  bestowed  lately  ujjon  Mr.  Fitch,  was 

superior  in  degree. 

It  was  no  other  than  this,  tliat  forgetting  all  maidenly  decency 
and  decorum,  before  Lord  Viscount  Cincjbars  and  his  friend,  that 
silly  little  creatine,  Caroline  Gann,  ruslied  out  from  the  parlour 
into  the  passage — she  had  been  at  the  window  ever  since  she  was 
rid  of  her  fainting  fit  !  and  ah  !  what  agonies  of  fear  had  that  little 
panting  heart  endured  during  the  half-iiour  of  her  lover's  absence  ! — 


92  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STOEY 

Caroline  Gann,  I  say,  rushed  into  the  passage,  and  leaped  iipon  the 
neck  of  Brandon,  and  kissed  him,  and  called  him  her  dear,  dear, 
dear  darling  George,  and  sobbed,  and  laughed,  until  George,  taking 
her  round  the  waist  gently,  carried  her  into  the  little  dingy  parlour, 
and  closed  the  door  behind  him. 

"  Egad,"  cried  Cinqbars,  "  this  is  quite  a  thene  I  Hullo,  Becky, 
Polly,  what's  your  name  1 — bring  uth  up  the  breakfatht ;  and  I 
hope  you've  remembered  the  thoda- water.  Come  along  up  thtairth, 
Tufty  my  boy." 

When  Brandon  came  upstairs  and  joined  them,  which  he  did  in 
a  minute  or  two,  consigning  Caroline  to  Becky's  care,  his  eyes  were 
full  of  tears ;  and  when  Cinqbars  began  to  rally  him  in  his  usual 
delicate  way,  Brandon  said  gravely,  "  No  laughing,  sir,  if  you 
Ijlease ;  for  I  swear  that  that  lady  before  long  shall  be  my  wife." 

"  Your  wife  ! — And  what  will  your  father  say,  and  what  will 
your  duns  say,  and  what  will  Miss  Goldmore  say,  with  her  hundred 
thousand  pounds  1 "  said  Cinqbars. 

"  Miss  Goldmore  be  hanged,"  said  Brandon,  "  and  the  duns  too ; 
and  my  father  may  reconcile  it  to  himself  as  he  can."  And  here 
Brandon  fell  into  a  reverie. 

"  It's  no  use  thinking,"  he  cried,  after  a  pause.  "  You  see  what 
a  girl  it  is,  Cinqbars.  I  love  her — by  heavens,  I'm  mad  with  love 
for  her  !  She  shall  be  mine,  let  what  will  come  of  it.  And  besides," 
he  added,  in  a  lower  tone  of  voice,  "  why  need,  why  need  my  father 
know  anything  about  it  1 " 

"  0  flames  and  furies,  what  a  lover  it  is  ! "  exclaimed  his  friend. 
"  But,  by  Jove,  I  like  your  spirit ;  and  hang  all  governors  say  I. 
Stop — a  bright  thought.  If  you  must  marry,  why  here's  Tom 
Tufthunt,  the  very  man  to  do  your  business."  Little  Lord  Cinqbars 
was  delighted  with  the  excitement  of  the  affair,  and  thought  to 
himself,  "  By  Jove,  this  is  an  intrigue  !  " 

"  What,  is  Tufthunt  in  orders  1 "  said  Brandon. 

"  Yes,"  replied  that  reverend  gentleman :  "  don't  you  see  my 
coat  1  I  took  orders  six  weeks  ago,  on  my  fellowship.  Cinqbars' 
governor  has  promised  me  a  living." 

"  And  you  shall  marry  George  here,  so  you  shall." 

"  What,  without  a  licence  1 " 

"Hang  the  licence  ! — we  won't  peach,  will  we,  George  1" 

"  Her  family  must  know  nothing  of  it,"  said  George,  "  or  they 
would." 

"  Why  shoiUd  they  1  Why  shouldn't  Tom  marry  you  in  this 
very  room,  without  any  church  or  stuff'  at  all  ? " 

Tom  said :   "  You'll  hold  me  out,  my  Lord,  if  anything  comes 


A   SHABBY   GENTEEL    STORY  93 

of  it ;  and,  if  Brandon  likes,  wliy,  I  rin'll.  He's  done  for  if  he  does," 
muttered  Tuftliunt,  "and  I  have  had  my  revenge  on  him,  tlie 
bullying  supercilious  blackleg." 

And  so  on  that  very  day,  in  Brandon's  room,  without  a  licence, 
and  by  that  worthy  clergyman  the  Rev.  Thomas  Tufthunt,  with  my 
Lord  Cinqbars  for  the  sole  witness,  poor  Caroline  Gann,  who  knew 
no  better,  who  never  heard  of  licences,  and  did  not  know  what 
banns  meant,  was  married  in  a  manner  to  the  person  calling  himself 
George  Brandon ;  George  Brandon  not  being  his  real  name. 

No  writings  at  all  were  made,  and  the  ceremony  merely  read 
through.  Becky,  Caroline's  sole  guardian,  when  the  poor  girl  kissed 
her,  and,  blushing,  showed  her  gold  ring,  thought  all  was  in  order  : 
and  the  happy  couple  set  off  for  Dover  that  day,  with  fifty  pounds 
which  Cinqbars  lent  the  bridegroom. 

Becky  received  a  little  letter  from  Caroline,  which  she  promised 
to  carry  to  her  mamma  at  Swigby's  :  and  it  was  agreed  that  she  was 
to  give  warning,  and  come  and  live  with  her  young  lady.  Next 
morning  Lord  Cinqbars  and  Tufthunt  took  the  boat  for  London  ; 
the  latter  uneasy  in  mind,  the  former  vowing  that  "  he'd  never  spent 
such  an  exciting  day  in  his  life,  and  loved  an  intrigue  of  all  things." 

Next  morning,  too,  the  great  travelling  chariot  of  Mrs.  Carrick- 
fergus  rolled  away  with  a  bearded  gentleman  inside.  Poor  Fitch 
had  been  back  to  his  lodgings  to  try  one  more  chance  with  Caroline, 
and  he  arrived  in  time — to  see  her  get  into  a  post-chaise  alone 
with  Brandon. 

Six  weeks  afterwards  Galignani's  Messenger  contained  the 
following  announcement : — 

"Married,  at  the  British  Embassy,  by  Bishop  Luscorabe, 
Andrew  Fitch,  Esq.,  to  Marianne  Caroline  Matilda,  widow  of  the 
late  Antony  Carrickfergus,  of  Lombard  Street  and  Gloucester  Place, 
Esquire.  The  happy  pair,  after  a  magnificent  dejeiln^,  set  off  for 
the  south  in  their  splendid  carriage-and-four.  Miss  Runt  officiated 
as  bridesmaid ;  and  we  remarked  among  the  company  Earl  and 
Countess  Crabs,  General  Sir  Rice  Curry,  K.C.B.,  Colonel  Wapshot, 
Sir  Charles  Swang,  the  Hon.  Algernon  Percy  Deuceace  and  his 
lady,  Count  Punter,  and  others  of  the  elite  of  the  fashionables  now 
in  Paris.  Tiie  bridegroom  was  attended  by  his  friend  Michael 
Angelo  Titmarsh,  Esciuirc  ;  and  the  Lady  was  given  away  by  the 
Right  Hon.  tiie  Earl  of  Crabs.  On  the  departure  of  the  bride  and 
bridegroom  the  festivities  were  resumed,  and  many  a  s])arkling 
bumper  of  Meuricc's  champagne  was  quaffed  to  the  health  of  the 
hospitable  and  interesting  couple." 


94  A    SHABBY    GENTEEL    STORY 

And  with  one  more  marriage  this  chapter  shall  conclude. 
About  this  time  the  British  Auxiliary  Legion  came  home  from 
Spain;  and  Lieut. -General  Swabber,  a  knight  of  San  Fernando,  of 
the  order  of  Isabella  the  Catholic,  of  the  Tower  and  Sword,  who, 
as  plain  Lieutenant  Swabber,  had  loved  Miss  Isabella  Macarty, 
as  a  general  now  actually  married  her.  I  leave  you  to  suppose 
how^  glorious  Mrs.  Gann  was,  and  how  Gann  got  tipsy  at  the 
"  Bag  of  Nails ; "  but  as  her  daughters  each  insisted  upon  their 
£30  a  year  income,  and  Mrs.  Gann  had  so  only  £60  left,  she 
was  obliged  still  to  continue  the  lodging-house  at  Margate,  in 
which  have  occurred  the  most  interesting  passages  of  this  Shabby 
Genteel  Story. 

Becky  never  went  to  her  young  mistress,  who  was  not  heard 
of  after  she  wrote  the  letter  to  her  parents,  saying  that  she  was 
married  to  Mr.  Brandon ;  but,  for  particular  reasons,  her  dear 
husband  wished  to  keep  his  marriage  secret,  and  for  the  present 
her  beloved  parents  must  be  content  to  know  she  was  happy, 
Gann  missed  his  little  Carry  at  first  a  good  deal,  but  spent  more 
and  more  of  his  time  at  the  alehouse,  as  his  house  with  only  Mrs. 
Gann  in  it  was  too  hot  for  him.  Mrs.  Gann  talked  unceasingly 
of  her  daughter  the  squire's  lady,  and  her  daughter  the  general's 
wife ;  but  never  once  mentioned  Caroline  after  the  first  burst  of 
wonder  and  wrath  at  her  departure. 

God  bless  thee,  poor  Caroline  !  Thou  art  happy  now,  for  some 
short  space  at  least ;  and  here,  therefore,  let  us  leave  thee. 


THE 

ADVENTURES     OF     PHILIP 

ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD 

SHOWING 

WHO  ROBBED  HIM,  WHO  HELPED  HIM,  AND  WHO 
PASSED  HIM  BY 


4 


TO 

M.    I.    HIGGINS 

IN    GRATEFUL    UEMEMBIIANCK    OF    OLD    FlUENDSHIl' 
AND    KINDNESS 

Kensington  :  July  18G2. 


THE 

ADYENTURE8    OF    PHILIP 


CHAPTER    I 

DOCTOR  FELL 

NOT  attend  her  own  son  when  he  is  ill ! "  said  my  mother. 
"  She  does  not  deserve  to  have  a  son  ! "  And  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  looked  towards  her  own  only  darling  whilst  uttering 
this  indignant  exclamation.  As  she  looked,  I  know  what  passed 
tlirough  her  mind.  She  nursed  me,  she  dressed  me  in  little  caps 
and  long-clothes,  she  attired  me  in  my  first  jacket  and  trousers.  She 
watched  at  my  bedside  through  my  infantile  and  juvenile  ailments. 
She  tended  me  through  all  my  life,  she  held  me  to  her  heart 
with  infinite  prayers  and  blessings.  She  is  no  longer  with  us 
to  bless  and  pray ;  but  from  heaven,  where  she  is,  I  know  her 
love  ])ursues  me ;  and  often  and  often  I  think  she  is  here,  only 
invisible. 

"Mrs.  Firmiii  would  be  of  no  good,"  growled  Dr.  Goodenough. 
"She  would  have  liysterics,  and  the  nurse  would  have  two  patients 
to  look  after." 

"Don't  tell  ?Me,"  cries  my  wife,  with  a  flush  on  her  cheeks. 
"  Do  you  sujtpose  if  that  child  "  (meaning,  of  course,  her  paragon) 
"  were  ill,  I  would  not  go  to  him  ? " 

"  My  dear,  if  that  child  were  hungry,  you  would  chop  off  your 
head  to  make  him  broth,"  says  the  doctor,  sipping  his  tea. 

"  Potdf/e  a  la  bonne  femme"  says  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Mother, 
we  have  it  at  the  club.  You  would  he  done  with  milk,  eggs,  and 
a  quantity  of  vegetables.  You  woulil  lie  put  to  simmer  for  many 
hours  in  an  earthen  ]ian,  and " 

"  Don't  be  horrible,  Aitliur  !  "  cries  a  young  lady,  who  was  my 
mother's  companion  of  tliosc  hapjiy  days. 


100  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"And  people  when  they  knew  you  would  like  you  very  much." 

My  uncle  looked  as  if  he  did  not  understand  the  allegory. 

"  What  is  this  you  are  talking  about — jiotage  a  la — what-d'ye- 
call-'im  ■?  "  says  he.  "  I  thought  we  were  speaking  of  Mrs.  Firmin, 
of  Old  Parr  Street.  Mrs.  Firmin  is  a  doosid  delicate  woman," 
interposed  the  Major.  "All  the  females  of  that  family  are.  Her 
mother  died  early.  Her  sister,  Mrs.  Twysden,  is  very  delicate. 
She  would  be  of  no  more  use  in  a  sick-room  than  a — than  a  bull  in 
a  china-shop,  begad  !  and  she  might  catch  the  fever,  too." 

"And  so  might  you,  Major!"  cries  the  doctor.  "Aren't  you 
talking  to  me,  who  have  just  come  from  the  boy?  Keep  your 
distance,  or  I  shall  bite  you." 

The  old  gentleman  gave  a  little  backward  movement  with  his 
chair. 

"  Gad,  it's  no  joking  matter,"  says  he ;  "  I've  known  fellows 
catch  fevers  at — at  ever  so  nuich  past  my  age.  At  any  rate,  the 
boy  is  no  boy  of  mine,  begad !  I  dine  at  Firmin's  house,  who  has 
married  into  a  good  family,  though  he  is  only  a  doctor,  and " 

"And  pray  what  was  my  husband?"  cried  Mrs.  Pendennis. 

"  Only  a  doctor,  indeed  !  "  calls  out  Goodenough.  "  My  dear 
creature,  I  have  a  great  mind  to  give  him  the  scarlet  fever  this 
minute ! " 

"  My  father  was  a  surgeon  and  ajiothecary,  I  have  heard,"  says 
the  widow's  son. 

"  And  what  then  ?  And  I  should  like  to  know  if  a  man  of  one 
of  the  most  ancient  families  in  the  kingdom — in  the  empire,  begad  ! 
— hasn't  a  right  to  pursoo  a  learned,  a  useful,  an  honourable 
profession.     My  brother  John  was " 

"A  medical  practitioner  !  "  I  say,  with  a  sigh. 

And  my  uncle  arranges  his  hair,  puts  his  handkercliief  to  his 
teeth,  and  says — 

"Stuff!  nonsense — no  patience  with  these  personalities,  begad! 
Firmin  is  a  doctor,  certainly — so  are  you — so  are  others.  But 
Firmin  is  a  university  man,  and  a  gentleman.  Firmin  has  travelled, 
Firmin  is  intimate  with  some  of  the  best  people  in  England,  and 
lias  married  into  one  of  the  first  families.  Gad,  sir,  do  you  suppose 
that  a  woman  bred  up  in  the  lap  of  luxury — in  the  very  lap,  sir — 
at  Ringwood  and  Whipham,  and  at  Ringwood  House  in  Walpole 
Street,  where  she  was  alisolute  mistress,  begad — do  you  sup{)0se 
such  a  woman  is  fit  to  be  nursetender  in  a  sick-room  ?  She  never 
was  tit  for  that,  or  for  anything  except — "  (here  the  Major  saw 
smiles  on  the  countenances  of  some  of  his  audience) — "  except,  I 
say,  to  preside  at  Ringwood  House  and — and  adorn  society,  and 
that  sort  of  thing.     And  if  such  a  woman  chooses  to  run  away  with 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      101 

her  uncle's  doctor,  and  marry  helow  her  raidc — why,  /  don't  think 
it's  a  laughing  matter,  hang  me  if  I  do." 

"And  so  slie  stops  at  the  Isle  of  Wight,  whilst  the  poor  boy 
remains  at  the  scliool,"  sighs  my  mother. 

"  Firmin  can't  come  away.  He  is  in  attendance  on  the  Grand 
Dook.  The  Prince  is  never  easy  without  Firmin.  He  has  given 
liim  his  Order  of  the  Swan.  They  are  moving  heaven  and  earth 
in  high  quarters ;  and  I  bet  you  even,  Goodenough,  that  that  boy 
whom  you  have  been  attending  will  be  a  baronet — if  you  don't  kill 
him  off  witli  your  confounded  potions  and  i)i]ls,  begad  ! " 

Dr.  Goodenough  only  gave  a  humph  and  contracted  his  great 
eyebrows. 

My  uncle  continued — 

"  I  know  what  you  mean.  Firmin  is  a  gentlemanly  man — a 
handsome  man.  I  remember  his  father,  Brand  Firmin,  at  Valen- 
ciennes with  the  Dook  of  York — one  of  the  liandsomest  men  in 
Europe.  Firebrand  Firmin  they  used  to  call  him — a  re<l-hcaded 
fellow — a  tremendous  duellist;  shot  an  Irishman — became  serious 
in  after  life,  and  that  sort  of  thing — quarrelled  with  his  son,  who 
was  doosid  wild  in  early  days.  Gentlemanly  man,  certainly,  Firmin. 
Black  hair  :  his  father  had  red.  So  much  the  better  for  the  Doctor  ; 
but — but — we  understand  each  other,  I  think,  Goodenough  ?  and 
you  and  I  have  seen  some  queer  fishes  in  our  time." 

And  the  old  gentleman  winked  and  took  his  snutf  graciously, 
and,  as  it  were,  pufted  the  Firmin  subject  away. 

"  Was  it  to  show  me  a  queer  fish  that  you  took  me  to  Dr. 
Firmin's  house  in  Parr  Street  1 "  asked  ]\Ir.  Pendennis  of  his  uncle. 
"  The  house  was  not  very  gay,  nor  the  mistress  very  wipe,  but  they 
were  all  as  kind  as  might  be  ;  and  I  am  very  fond  of  the  boy." 

"  So  did  Lord  Ringwood,  liis  mother's  uncle,  like  him,"  cried 
Major  Pendennis.  "  Tliat  boy  brought  about  a  reconciliation 
between  his  mother  and  his  uncle,  after  her  runaway  match.  I 
suppose  you  know  she  ran  away  witli  Firmin,  my  dear  1 " 

My  mother  said  "  she  had  lieard  something  of  the  story."  Ami 
the  Major  once  more  asserted  that  Dr.  Firmin  was  a  wild  fellow 
twenty  years  ago.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing  he  was 
Physician  to  the  Plethoric  Hospital,  Physician  to  the  Grand  Duke 
of  Gniningen,  and  Knight  of  his  Order  of  the  Black  Swan,  member 
of  many  learned  societies,  the  husl)and  of  a  rich  wife,  and  a  i)erson 
of  no  small  consideration. 

As  ft)r  his  son,  whose  name  figures  at  the  head  of  these  pages, 
you  may  sujiposc  he  did  not  die  of  tlie  illness  about  which  we  had 
just  Itccii  talking.  A  good  nurse  waited  on  liim,  though  his 
mamma  was  in  the  country.      Though   his  papa  was  absent,  a  very 


102  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

competent  physician  was  found  to  take  charge  of  the  young  patient, 
and  preserve  his  life  for  the  benefit  of  his  family,  and  the  purposes 
of  this  history. 

We  pursued  our  talk  about  Philip  Firmin  and  liis  father,  and 
his  grand-uncle  the  Earl,  whom  Major  Pendennis  knew  intimately 
well,  until  Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  announced,  and  our  kind 
physician  took  leave  of  us,  and  drove  back  to  London.  Some  who 
spoke  on  tliat  summer  evening  are  no  longer  here  to  speak  or  listen. 
Some  who  were  young  then  have  topped  the  hill  and  are  descending 
towards  the  valley  of  the  shadows.  "Ah,"  says  old  Major  Pen- 
dennis, shaking  his  brown  curls,  as  the  Doctor  went  away ;  "  did 
you  see,  my  good  soul,  when  I  spoke  about  his  confrere,  how  glum 
Goodenough  looked  %  They  don't  love  each  other,  my  dear.  Two 
of  a  trade  don't  agree,  and  besides  I  have  no  doubt  the  other 
doctor-fellows  are  jealous  of  Firmin,  because  he  lives  in  the  best 
society.  A  man  of  good  family,  my  dear.  There  has  already  been 
a  great  raj^prochement ;  and  if  Lord  Ringwood  is  quite  reconciled 
to  him,  there's  no  knowing  what  luck  that  boy  of  Firmin's  may 
come  to." 

Although  Dr.  Goodenough  might  think  but  lightly  of  his 
confrere,  a  great  portion  of  the  public  held  him  in  much  higher 
estimation  :  and  esijecially  in  the  little  community  of  Grey  Friars, 
of  which  the  kind  reader  has  heard  in  previous  works  of  the  present 
biographer,  Dr.  Brand  Firmin  was  a  very  great  favourite,  and 
received  with  much  respect  and  honour.  Whenever  the  boys  at 
that  school  were  afflicted  with  the  common  ailments  of  youth,  Mr. 
Spratt,  the  school  apothecary,  ])rovided  for  tliem  ;  and  by  the 
simple  thougli  disgusting  remedies  wliit-li  were  in  use  in  those  times, 
generally  succeeded  in  restoring  his  young  patients  to  health.  But 
if  young  Lord  Egham  (tlie  Manjuis  of  Ascot's  son,  as  my  respected 
reader  very  likely  knows)  liappened  to  be  unwell,  as  was  frequently 
the  case,  from  his  Lordship's  great  command  of  pf)cket-money  and 
imprudent  fondness  for  the  contents  of  the  pastrycook's  shop ;  or 
if  any  very  grave  case  of  illness  occurred  in  the  school,  then,  quick, 
the  famous  Dr.  Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street,  Burlington  Gardens, 
was  sent  for ;  and  an  illness  must  have  been  very  severe,  if  he  could 
not  cure  it.  Dr.  Firmin  had  been  a  schoolfellow,  and  remained  a 
special  friend,  of  the  head-master.  When  young  Lord  Egham, 
before  mentioned  (he  was  our  only  lord,  and  therefore  we  were  a 
little  proud  and  careful  of  our  darling  youth),  got  the  erysipelas, 
which  swelled  his  head  to  the  size  of  a  pumpkin,  the  doctor 
triumphantly  carried  him  through  his  illness,  and  was  compli- 
mented by  the  head  boy  in  his  Latin  oration  on  the  annual  sj)eech- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      103 

day  for  liis  superhuman  skill  and  ,u:oddiko  delight  salutem  hominihus 
dando.  The  head-master  turned  towards  Dr.  Firmin,  and  bowed  : 
the  governors  and  bigwigs  buzzed  to  one  another,  and  looked  at 
him :  the  boys  looked  at  him  :  the  physician  held  his  handsome 
head  down  towards  his  shirt-frill.  His  modest  eyes  would  not  look 
up  from  the  spotless  lining  of  the  broad-brimmed  hat  on  his  knees. 
A  murmur  of  applause  hummed  through  the  ancient  hall,  a  scuffling 
of  young  feet,  a  rustling  of  new  cassocks  among  the  masters,  and  a 
refreshing  blowing  of  noses  ensued,  as  the  orator  polished  off  his 
period,  and  then  passed  to  some  other  theme. 

Anudst  the  general  enthusiasm,  there  was  one  member  of  the 
auditory  scornful  and  dissentient.  This  gentleman  whispered  to 
his  comrade  at  the  commencement  of  the*  phrase  concerning  the 
Doctor  the,  I  believe  of  Eastern  derivation,  monosyllable  "  Bosh  !  " 
and  he  added  sadly,  looking  towards  the  object  of  all  this  praise, 
"  He  can't  construe  the  Latin — though  it  is  all  a  parcel  of  humbug." 

"  Hush,  Phil  !  "  said  his  friend  ;  and  Pliil's  face  flushed  red,  as 
Dr.  Firmin,  lifting  uj)  his  eyes,  looked  at  him  for  one  moment ;  for 
the  recij)ient  of  all  this  laudation  was  no  other  than  Phil's  father. 

The  illness  of  which  we  spoke  had  long  since  passed  away. 
Philip  was  a  schoolboy  no  longer,  but  in  his  second  year  at  the 
university,  and  one  of  half-a-dozen  young  men,  ex-pupils  of  the 
school,  who  had  come  up  for  the  annual  dinner.  The  honours  of 
this  year's  dinner  were  for  Dr.  Firnun,  even  more  than  for  Lord 
Ascot  in  his  star  and  ribbon,  who  walked  with  his  arm  in  the 
Doctor's  into  chapel.  His  Lordshij)  faltered  when,  in  his  after- 
dinner  sjjeech,  lie  alluded  to  the  inestimable  services  and  skill  of 
his  tried  old  friend,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  fellow-puiiil  in  those 
walls — (loud  cheers) — whose  friendship  had  been  the  delight  of  his 
life — a  friendsliip  which  he  j)raye(l  might  be  the  inheritance  of  their 
children.      (Immense  applause;  after  which  Dr.  Firmin  sjioke.) 

The  Doctor's  speech  was  perhaps  a  little  commonplace ;  the 
Latin  (piotations  which  he  used  were  not  exactly  novel ;  but  Phil 
need  not  have  been  so  angry  or  ill-behaved.  He  went  on  sipping 
sherry,  glaring  at  ids  fother,  and  muttering  observations  that  were 
anything  but  complimentary  to  his  parent.  "Now  look,"  says  he, 
"he  is  going  to  be  overcome  by  his  feelings.  He  will  put  his 
handkorcluef  up  to  his  mouth,  and  show  his  diamond  ring.  I  told 
you  so  !  It's  too  much.  I  can't  swallow  this  .  .  .  this  sherry. 
I  say,  you  fellows,  let  us  come  out  of  this,  and  have  a  smoke  some- 
where." And  Phil  rose  up  and  (piitted  the  dining-room,  just  as  his 
father  was  derliiring  what  a  joy,  and  a  i)ride,  and  a  delight  it  was 
to  him  to  tiiiiik  tliat  tlie  friendshii)  witli  wliich  his  nolilc  friend 
honoured   him   was   likclv    to   be   transmitted   to  t  licir  rliildreii,  and 


104  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

that  when  he  had  j^assed  away  from  this  earthly  scene  (cries  of 
"  No,  no  !  "  "  May  you  Hve  a  thousand  years  !  ")  it  would  be  his  joy 
to  think  that  his  son  would  always  find  a  friend  and  protector  in 
the  noble,  the  princely  house  of  Ascot. 

We  foun<l  the  carriages  waiting  outside  Grey  Friars  Gate,  and 
Philip  Firniin,  pushing  nie  into  his  father's,  told  the  footman  to 
drive  liome,  and  tliat  the  Doctor  would  return  in  Lord  Ascot's 
carriage.  Home  then  to  Old  Parr  Street  we  went,  where  many 
a  time  as  a  boy  I  had  been  welcome.  And  we  retired  to  Phil's 
private  den  in  the  back  buildings  of  the  great  house :  and  over 
our  cigars  we  talkeil  of  the  Founder's-day  Feast,  and  the  speeches 
delivered ;  and  of  the  old  Cistercians  of  our  time,  and  how  Tliomp- 
son  was  married,  and  Johnson  was  in  the  army,  and  Jackson  (not 
red-haired  Jackson,  pig-eyed  Jackson)  was  first  in  his  year,  and 
so  forth  ;  and  in  this  twaddle  were  most  hapi)ily  engaged,  when 
Phil's  father  flung  oi)en  the  tall  door  of  tlie  study. 

"  Here's  the  governor !  "  growled  Phil ;  and  in  an  undertone, 
"What  does  he  want?" 

"  The  governor,"  as  I  looked  up,  was  not  a  pleasant  object  to 
behold.  Dr.  Firmin  had  very  white  Mse  teeth,  which  perhaps 
were  a  little  too  large  for  his  mouth,  and  these  grinned  in  the  gas- 
light very  fiercely.  On  his  cheeks  were  black  whiskers,  and  over 
liis  glaring  eyes  fierce  black  eyebrows,  and  his  bald  head  glittered 
like  a  billiard-ball.  You  would  hardly  have  known  that  he  was 
the  original  of  that  melancholy  philosophic  portrait  which  all  the 
patients  admired  in  the  Doctor's  waiting-room. 

"I  find,  Philip,  that  you  took  my  carriage,"  said  the  fatlier ; 
"  and  Lord  Ascot  and  I  had  to  walk  ever  so  far  for  a  cab  !  " 

"  Hadn't  he  got  his  own  carriage  %  I  thought,  of  course,  he 
would  have  his  carriage  on  a  state-day,  and  that  you  would  come 
home  with  the  lord,"  said  Philip. 

"  I  had  promised  to  bring  him  home,  sir  !  "  said  the  father. 
"Well,  sir,  I'm  very  sorry,"  continued  tlie  son  curtly. 
"  Sorry  !  "  screams  the  otlier. 

"I  can't  say  any  more,  sir,  and  I  am  very  sorry,"  answers 
Phil ;  and  he  knocked  the  ash  of  his  cigar  into  the  stove. 

The  stranger  within  the  house  hardly  knew  how  to  look  on 
its  master  or  his  son.  There  was  evidently  some  dire  quarrel 
between  them.  The  old  man  glared  at  the  young  one,  who  calmly 
looked  his  father  in  the  face.  Wicked  rage  and  hate  seemed  to 
flash  from  the  Doctor's  eyes,  and  anon  came  a  look  of  wild  pitiful 
supplication  towards  the  guest,  which  was  most  painful  to  bear.  In 
the  midst  of  wiiat  dark  family  mystery  was  I  %  What  meant  tliis 
cruel  spectacle  of  the  father's  terrified  anger,  and  the  son's  scorn  % 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      105 

"  I — I  appeal  to  you,  Pendennis,"  says  the  Doctor,  with  a 
choking  utterance  and  a  ghastly  face. 

"  Shall  we  begin  ab  ovo,  sir  1 "  says  Phil.  Again  tlie  gliastly 
look  of  terror  comes  over  the  fether's  face. 

"I — I  promise  to  bring  one  of  the  first  noblemen  in  England," 
gasps  the  Doctor,  "  from  a  pul)lic  dinner,  in  my  carriage  ;  and  my 
son  takes  it,  and  leaves  me  and  Lord  Ascot  to  walk ! — Is  it  fair, 
Pendennis  1  Is  it  the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  to  a  gentleman  ;  of 
a  son  to  a  father  ? " 

"  No,  sir,"  I  said  gravely,  "  nothing  can  excuse  it."  Indeed  I 
was  shocked  at  the  young  man's  obduracy  and  undutifulness. 

"  I  told  you  it  was  a  mistake  ! "  cries  Phil,  reddening.  "  I 
heard  Lord  Ascot  order  his  own  carriage ;  I  made  no  doubt  lie 
would  bring  my  father  home.  To  ride  in  a  chariot  with  a  footman 
behind  me,  is  no  pleasure  to  me,  and  I  would  far  rather  have  a 
Hansom  and  a  cigar.  It  was  a  blunder,  and  I  am  sorry  for  it — 
there  !     And  if  I  live  to  a  hundred  I  can't  say  more." 

"If  you  are  sorry,  Philip,"  groans  the  father,  "it  is  enough." 
"  You  remember,  Pendennis,  when — when  my  son  and  I  were  not 
on  this — on  this  footing,"  and  he  looked  up  for  a  moment  at  a 
picture  which  was  hanging  over  Pliil's  head — a  portrait  of  Phil's 
mother ;  the  lady  of  Avhom  my  (jwn  mother  s])oke,  on  that  evening 
when  we  had  talked  of  tlie  boy's  illness.  Both  the  ladies  liad 
passed  from  the  world  now,  and  their  images  were  but  painted 
shadows  on  the  wall. 

The  father  had  accepted  an  apology,  though  the  son  had  made 
none.  I  looked  at  the  elder  Firmin's  face,  and  the  character 
written  on  it.  I  remembered  such  particulars  of  his  early  history 
as  had  been  told  to  me ;  and  I  perfectly  recalled  that  feeling  of 
doubt  and  misliking  which  came  over  my  miml  when  I  first  saw 
the  Doctor's  luindsome  face  some  few  years  previously,  Avhen  niy 
uncle  first  took  me  to  the  Doctors  in  Old  Parr  Street  ;  little  Phil 
being  then  a  flaxen-headed,  pretty  child,  who  had  just  assumed  his 
first  trousers,  and  I  a  fifth-form  boy  at  school. 

My  father  and  Dr.  Firmin  were  members  of  the  medical  j)ro- 
fession.  They  had  been  bred  up  as  boys  at  the  same  school, 
wliither  families  used  to  send  their  sons  from  generation  to  genera- 
tion, and  long  before  people  liad  ever  learned  that  the  place  was 
unwholesome.  Grey  Friars  was  smoky,  certainly ;  I  think  in  the 
time  of  tlie  Pla.gue  great  numbers  of  people  were  buried  tliere.  Rut 
had  tlie  school  been  situated  in  the  most  pi(!turesque  swamp  in 
England,  the  general  health  of  tlie  boys  could  not  have  been 
better.  We  boys  used  to  hear  of  epidemics  occurring  in  other 
schools,  and  were  almost  sorry  that  they  did  not  ct)me  to  ours,  so 


106  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

that  we  might  shut  up,  and  get  longer  vacations.  Even  that 
illness  whicli  subsequently  befell  Phil  Firniin  himself  attacked  no 
one  else — the  boys  all  luckily  going  home  for  the  holidays  on  the 
very  day  of  poor  Phil's  seizure  ;  but  of  tliis  illness  more  anon. 
When  it  was  determined  that  little  Phil  Firmin  was  to  go  to 
Grey  Friars,  Phil's  father  bethought  him  that  Major  Pendennis, 
whom  he  met  in  the  world  and  society,  had  a  nephew  at  the 
place,  who  might  protect  the  little  fellow,  and  the  Major  took 
his  nephew  to  see  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin  one  Sunday  after  church, 
and  we  had  lunch  at  Old  Parr  Street,  and  there  little  Phil  was 
presented  to  me,  whom  I  promised  to  take  vmder  my  protection. 
He  was  a  simple  little  man  ;  an  artless  child,  who  had  not  the 
least  idea  of  the  dignity  of  a  fiftli-form  boy.  He  was  quite 
unabashed  in  talking  to  me  and  other  persons,  and  has  remained 
so  ever  since.  He  asked  my  uncle  htjw  he  came  to  have  such 
odd  hair.  He  partook  freely  of  the  delicacies  on  the  table.  I 
remember  he  hit  me  with  his  little  fist  once  or  twice,  which 
liberty  at  first  struck  me  with  a  panic  of  astonishment,  and 
then  with  a  sense  of  the  ridiculous  so  exquisitely  keen,  that  I 
burst  out  into  a  fit  of  laughter.  It  was,  you  see,  as  if  a  stranger 
were  to  hit  the  Pope  in  the  ribs,  and  call  him  "  Old  boy " ;  as 
if  Jack  were  to  tweak  one  of  the  giants  by  the  nose ;  or  Ensign 
Jones  to  ask  the  Duke  of  Wellington  to  take  wine.  I  had  a 
strong  sense  of  humour,  even  in  those  early  days,  and  enjoyed  this 
joke  accordingly. 

"Philip  !"  Cries  mamma,  "you  will  hurt  Mr.  Pendennis." 

"  I  will  knock  him  di>wn  !  "  shouts  Phil.  Fancy  knocking  me 
down, — ME,  a  fifth-form  boy  ! 

"  The  child  is  a  perfect  Hercules,"  remarks  the  mother. 

"  He  strangled  two  snakes  in  his  cradle,"  says  the  Doctor, 
looking  at  me.  (It  was  then,  as  I  remember,  I  felt  Dr.  Fell 
towards  him.) 

"  La,  Dr.  Firmin  ! "  cries  mamma,  "  I  can't  bear  snakes.  I 
remember  there  was  one  at  Rome,  when  we  were  walking  one  day, 
a  great  large  snake,  and  I  hated  it,  and  I  cried  out,  and  I  nearh' 
fainted ;  and  my  uncle  Ringwood  said  I  ought  to  like  snakes,  for 
one  might  be  an  agreeable  rattle ;  and  I  have  read  of  them  being 
charming  in  India,  and  I  daresay  you  have,  Mr.  Pendennis,  for 
I  am  told  you  are  very  clever ;  and  I  am  not  in  the  least ;  I 
Avish  I  were ;  but  my  husband  is,  very — and  so  Phil  wiU  be. 
Will  you  be  a  very  clever  boy,  dear?  He  was  named  after  my 
dear  papa,  who  was  killed  at  Busaco  when  I  was  quite,  quite  a 
little  thing,  and  we  wore  mourning,  and  we  went  to  live  with  my 
uncle  Ringwood  afterwards ;  but  Maria  and  I  had  both  our  own 


ON    HIS    AVAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     107 

fortunes ;  and  I  am  sure  I  little  thought  I  should  marry  a  phy- 
sician— la,  one  of  Uncle  Ringwood's  grooms,  I  should  as  soon 
have  thought  of  marrying  him  ! — but,  you  know,  my  husband 
is  one  of  the  cleverest  men  in  the  world.  Don't  tell  me, — 
you  are,  dearest,  and  you  know  it ;  and  when  a  man  is  clever, 
I  don't  value  his  rank  in  life ;  no,  not  if  he  was  that  fender ;  and 
I  always  said  to  Uncle  Ringwood,  '  Talent  I  will  marry,  fur  talent 
I  adore  ; '  and  I  did  marry  you.  Dr.  Firmin,  you  know  I  did, 
and  tiiis  child  is  your  image.  And  you  will  be  kind  to  him  at 
school,"  says  the  poor  lady,  turning  to  me,  her  eyes  filling  with 
tears,  "for  talent  is  always  kind,  except  Uncle  Ringwood,  and  he 
was  very- 


"A  little  more  wine,  Mr.  Pendennis?"  said  the  Doctor — Dr. 
Fell  still,  though  he  was  most  kind  to  me.  "  I  shall  put  my  little 
man  under  your  care,  and  I  know  you  will  keep  him  from  harm. 
I  hope  you  will  do  us  the  favour  to  come  to  Parr  Street  whenever 
you  are  free.  In  my  father's  time  we  used  to  come  home  of  a 
Saturday  from  school,  and  enjoyed  going  to  the  play."  And  the 
Doctor  shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand,  and,  I  must  say,  continued 
his  kindness  to  me  as  long  as  ever  I  knew  him.  When  we  went 
away,  my  uncle  Pendennis  told  me  many  stories  about  the  great 
Earl  and  family  of  Ringwood,  and  how  Dr.  Firmin  had  made  a 
match — a  match  of  the  affections — with  this  lady,  daughter  of 
Philip  Ringwood,  who  was  killed  at  Busaco  ;  and  how  she  had  been 
a  great  beauty,  and  was  a  perfcict  yraitde  dame  always  ;  and,  if  not 
the  cleverest,  certainly  one  t)f  the  kindest  and  most  amiable  women 
in  the  world. 

In  those  days  I  was  accustomed  to  receive  the  opinions  of  my 
informant  with  such  resjiect  that  I  at  once  accepted  this  statement 
as  authentic.  Mrs.  Firmin's  portrait,  indeed,  was  beautiful :  it  was 
painted  by  young  Mr.  Harlowe,  that  year  lie  was  at  Rome,  and 
when  in  eighteen  days  he  comi)lete(l  a  copy  of  the  "  Transfiguration," 
to  tlie  admiration  of  all  the  Academy  ;  but  I,  for  my  i)art,  only 
remember  a  lady,  weak  and  tliin  and  faded,  who  never  came  out  of 
her  dressing-room  until  a  late  hour  in  the  afternoon,  anil  whose 
superannuated  smiles  and  grimaces  used  to  i)rovoke  my  juvenile 
sense  of  humour.  She  used  to  kiss  Phil's  brow ;  and,  as  she  held 
the  boy's  liand  in  one  of  her  lean  ones,  would  say,  "  Who  would 
suppose  such  a  great  boy  as  that  could  be  my  son] "  "  Be  kind  to 
him  when  I  am  gone,"  she  sighed  to  me,  one  Sunday  evening,  when 
I  was  taking  leave  of  her,  as  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  she 
])laced  the  thin  hand  in  mine  for  the  last  time.  The  Doctor,  reading 
by  the  fire,  turned  rniiinl  and  scowled  at  her  iVuni  undci'  his  tall 
sliining  forehead.      "  Vuu  are  nervous,  Louisa,  ami  luid  better  go  to 


108  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

your  room,  I  told  you  you  had,"  lie  said  abruptly.  "  Young  gentle- 
men, it  is  time  for  you  to  be  off  to  Grey  Friars.  Is  the  cab  at  the 
door,  Brice  1 "  And  he  took  out  his  watch — his  great  shining  watch, 
by  which  he  had  felt  the  pulses  of  so  many  famous  personages, 
whom  his  prodigious  skill  had  rescued  from  disease.  And  at  part- 
ing, Phil  flung  his  arms  round  liis  jioor  mother,  and  kissed  her  under 
the  glossy  curls ;  the  borrowed  curls  !  and  he  looked  his  father 
resolutely  in  the  face  (whose  own  glance  used  to  fall  before  tliat  of 
the  boy),  and  bade  him  a  gruff  good-night,  ere  we  set  forth  for  Grey 
Friars. 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  SCHOOL  AND  AT  HOME 

I  DINED  yesterday  with  three  gentlemen,  whose  time  of  life 
may  be  guessed  by  their  conversation,  a  great  part  of  which  con- 
sisted of  Eton  reminiscences  and  lively  imitations  of  Dr.  Keate. 
Each  one,  as  he  described  how  he  liad  been  flogged,  mimicked  to 
the  best  of  liis  power  the  manner  and  the  mode  of  operating  of  tlie 
famous  Doctor.  His  little  parenthetical  remarks  during  the  ceremony 
were  recalled  with  great  facetiousness  :  the  very  hirhish  of  the  rods 
was  parodied  with  tlirilling  fidelity,  and  after  a  good  hour's  conver- 
sation, the  sulijcct  was  brought  to  a  climax  by  a  description  of  that 
awful  night  when  the  Doctor  called  up  squad  after  squad  of  boys 
from  their  beds  in  their  respective  boarding-houses,  whipped  through 
the  whole  night,  and  castigated  I  don't  know  how  many  luuulred 
rebels.  All  these  mature  men  laughed,  prattled,  rejoiced,  and 
became  young  again,  as  they  recounted  their  stories ;  and  each  of 
them  heartily  and  eagerly  bade  the  stranger  to  understand  how 
Keate  was  a  thorough  gentleman.  Having  talked  about  tlieir 
floggings,  I  say,  for  an  hour  at  least,  they  apologised  to  me  for 
dwelling  ui)on  a  subject  which  after  all  was  strictly  local :  but, 
indeed,  tlieir  talk  greatly  amused  and  diverted  me,  and  I  hope,  and 
am  quite  ready,  to  h(>ar  all  tlieir  jolly  stoi'ies  over  again. 

Be  not  angry,  jiaticnt  reader  of  former  volumes  by  the  author 
of  the  present  history,  if  I  am  garrulous  about  Grey  Friars,  and  go 
l)ack  to  that  ancient  place  of  education  to  find  the  heroes  of  our 
tale.  We  are  young  but  once.  When  we  remember  that  time  of 
youth,  we  are  still  young.  He  o\n-  whose  head  eight  or  nine 
lustres  have  jiassed,  if  he  wishes  to  write  of  boys,  must  recall  the 
time  when  he  himself  was  a  boy.  Their  habits  change  ;  their 
waists  are  longer  or  shorter  ;  tlieii'  shirt-collars  stick  up  more  or 
less  ;  but  the  boy  is  the  boy  in  King  George's  time  as  in  that  of  his 
Royal  niece — once  our  maiden  Queen,  now  tiie  anxious  mother  of 
many  boys.  And  young  fellows  are  lionest,  and  merry,  and  idl(>, 
and  mischievous,  and  timid,  and  brave,  and  studious,  and  selfish, 
and  generous,  and  mean,  and  false,  and  truth-telling,  and  afft'ctionate, 
and  go(jd,  and  bad,   now  as  in  former  days.      lie  with  whom  we 


110  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

have  mainly  to  do  is  a  geutlemau  of  mature  age  now  walking  the 
street  with  boys  of  his  own.  He  is  not  going  to  perish  in  the  last 
chapter  of  these  memoirs — to  die  of  consumption  with  his  love 
weeping  by  his  bedside,  or  to  blow  his  brains  out  in  desjjair,  because 
she  has  been  married  to  his  rival,  or  killed  out  of  a  gig,  or  otherwise 
done  for  in  the  last  chapter  but  one.  No,  no ;  we  will  have  no 
dismal  endings.  Philip  Firmin  is  well  and  hearty  at  this  minute, 
owes  no  man  a  shilling,  and  can  enjoy  his  glass  of  port  in  perfect 
comfort.  So,  my  dear  miss,  if  you  want  a  pulmonary  romance,  the 
present  won't  suit  you.  So,  young  gentleman,  if  you  are  for 
melancholy,  despair,  and  sardonic  satire,  please  to  call  at  some  other 
shop.  That  Philip  shall  have  his  trials  is  a  matter  of  course — 
may  they  be  interesting,  though  they  do  not  end  dismally  !  That 
he  shall  fall  and  trip  in  his  course  sometimes  is  pretty  certain.  Ah, 
who  does  not  upon  this  life-journey  of  ours  1  Is  not  our  want  the 
occasion  of  our  brother's  charity,  and  thus  does  not  good  come  out 
of  that  evil  ?  When  the  traveller  (of  whom  the  Master  spoke)  fell 
among  the  thieves,  his  mishap  was  contrived  to  try  many  a  heart 
beside  his  own — the  Knave's  who  robbed  him,  the  Levite's  and 
Priest's  who  passed  him  by  as  he  lay  bleeding,  the  humble 
Samaritan's  whose  hand  poured  oil  into  his  wound,  and  held  out  its 
pittance  to  relieve  him. 

So  little  Philip  Firmin  was  brought  to  school  by  his  mamma 
in  her  carriage,  who  entreated  the  housekeeper  to  have  a  special 
charge  of  tliat  angelic  child  ;  and  as  soon  as  the  poor  lady's  back 
was  turned,  Mrs.  Bunce  emptied  the  contents  of  the  little  boy's 
trunk  into  one  of  sixty  or  seventy  little  cupboards,  wherein  reposed 
other  boys'  clothes  and  haberdashery :  and  then  Mrs.  Firmin 
requested  to  see  tlie  Rev.  Mr.  X.,  in  whose  house  Philip  was  to 
board,  and  besought  him,  and  explained  many  things  to  him,  such 
as  the  exceeding  delicacy  of  the  child's  constitution,  &c.  &c.  ;  and 
Mr.  X.,  who  was  very  good-natured,  patted  the  boy  kindly  on  the 
head,  and  sent  for  the  other  Philip,  Philip  Ringwood,  Phil's  cousin, 
who  had  arrived  at  Grey  Friars  an  hour  or  two  before ;  and  Mr. 
X.  told  Ringwood  to  take  care  of  the  little  fellow ;  and  Mrs. 
Firmin,  choking  behind  her  pocket-handkerchief,  gurgled  out  a 
blessing  on  the  grinning  youth,  and  at  one  time  had  an  idea  of 
giving  Master  Ringwood  a  sovereign,  but  paused,  thinking  he  was 
too  big  a  boy,  and  that  she  might  not  take  such  a  liberty,  and 
[)resently  she  was  gone ;  and  little  Phil  Firmin  was  introduced 
to  the  long- room  and  his  schoolfellows  of  Mr.  X.'s  house ;  and 
having  plenty  of  money,  and  naturally  finding  his  way  to  the 
pastrycook's,  the  next  day,  after  school,  he  was  met  by  his  cousin 
Ringwood  and  robbed  of  half  the  tarts  which  he  had  purchased. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     111 

A  fortnight  afterwards,  the  hos])ital)le  Doctor  and  his  wife  asked 
their  young  kinsman  to  Old  Parr  Street,  Burlington  Gardens,  and 
tlie  two  boys  went ;  but  Phil  never  mentioned  anything  to  his 
parents  regarding  tlie  robbery  of  tarts,  being  deterred,  perhaps, 
from  speaking  by  awful  threats  of  punishment  which  his  cousin 
promised  to  administer  when  they  got  back  to  school,  in  case  of 
the  little  boy's  confession.  Subsequently,  Master  Ringwood  was 
asked  once  in  every  term  to  Old  Parr  Street ;  but  neither  Mrs. 
Firmin,  nor  the  Doctor,  nor  Master  Firmin,  liked  the  Baronet's 
son,  and  Mrs.  Firmin  pronounced  him  a  violent  rude  boy. 

I,  for  my  part,  left  school  suddenly  and  early,  and  my  little 
jn-otr'fie  behind  me.  His  poor  mother,  who  had  promised  herself 
to  come  for  liim  every  Saturday,  did  not  keep  her  promise.  Smith- 
field  is  a  long  way  from  Piccadilly ;  and  an  angry  cow  once 
scratched  the  panels  of  her  carriage,  causing  her  footman  to  spring 
from  his  board  into  a  pig-pen,  and  herself  to  feel  sucli  a  shock, 
that  no  wonder  she  was  afraid  of  visiting  the  City  afterwards. 
The  circumstances  of  this  accident  she  often  narrated  to  us.  Her 
anecdotes  were  not  numerous,  but  she  told  them  repeatedly.  In 
imagination,  sometimes,  I  can  hear  her  ceaseless  simple  cackle ; 
see  her  faint  eyes,  as  she  prattles  on  unconsciously,  and  watch  the 
dark  looks  of  her  handsome  silent  husband,  scowling  from  under 
his  eyebrows  and  smiling  behind  his  teeth.  I  daresay  he  ground 
those  teeth  with  suppressed  rage  sometimes.  I  daresay  to  bear 
with  her  endless  volubility  must  have  tasked  his  endurance.  He 
may  have  treated  her  ill,  but  she  tried  him.  She,  on  her  part, 
may  have  been  a  not  very  wise  woman,  but  she  was  kind  to  me. 
Did  not  her  housekeeper  make  me  the  best  of  tarts,  and  keep 
gooilies  from  the  comjiany  dinners  for  the  young  gentlemen  when 
they  came  home?  Did  not  her  husban<l  give  me  of  his  fees?  I 
promise  you,  after  I  had  seen  Dr.  Fell  a  few  times,  that  first 
uiii)leasing  impression  produced  by  his  darkling  countenance  and 
sinister  good  looks  wore  away.  He  w^as  a  gentleman.  He  liad 
lived  in  the  great  world,  of  which  he  told  anecdotes  delightful  to 
boys  to  hear ;  and  he  passed  the  bottle  to  me  as  if  I  w-as  a  man. 

I  hope  and  think  I  remembered  the  injunction  of  poor  Mrs. 
Firmin  to  be  kind  to  licr  boy.  As  long  as  we  stayed  together  at 
Grey  Friars,  I  was  I'liiFs  champion  whenever  he  needed  my  protec- 
tion, thougli  of  course  I  could  not  always  be  present  to  guard  the 
little  scapegrace  from  all  the  blows  whicli  were  aimed  at  his  young 
face  by  pugilists  of  his  own  size.  Tliere  were  seven  or  eight  years' 
diff"erence  between  us  (he  says  ten,  which  is  absurd,  and  wliich  T 
deny)  ;  but  I  was  always  remarkable  for  my  aftability,  ;ind,  in 
spite  of  our  disjiarity  of  age,   would   often   graciously    accept   the 


112  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

general  invitation  I  had  from  his  father  for  any  Saturday  and 
Sunday  when  I  would  like  to  ac(;ompany  Pliilip  home. 

Such  an  invitation  is  welcome  to  any  schoolboy.  To  get  away 
from  Smithfielil,  and  show  our  best  clothes  in  Bond  Street,  was 
always  a  privilege.  To  strut  in  tlie  Park  on  Sunday,  and  nod  to  the 
other  fellows  who  were  strutting  there  too,  was  better  than  remain- 
ing at  school,  "  doing  '  Diates  aron,' "  as  the  phrase  used  to  be, 
having  that  endless  roast-beef  for  dinner,  and  hearing  two  sermons  in 
chapel.  There  may  have  been  more  lively  streets  in  London  than 
Old  Parr  Street ;  but  it  was  pleasanter  to  be  there  than  to  look  at 
Goswell  Street  over  Grey  Friars  wall  ;  and  so  the  present  biographer 
and  reader's  very  humble  servant  found  Dr.  Firmin's  house  an 
agreeable  resort.  Mamma  was  often  ailing,  or,  if  well,  went  out 
into  the  world  with  her  husband ;  in  either  case,  we  boys  had  a 
good  dinner  provided  for  us,  with  the  special  dishes  which  Phil 
loved  ;  and  after  dinner  we  adjoui-ned  to  the  jilay,  not  being  by  any 
means  too  proud  to  sit  in  tlie  pit  with  Mr.  Brice,  the  Doctor's  con- 
fidential man.  On  Sunday  we  went  to  church  at  Lady  Whittlesea's, 
and  back  to  school  in  the  evening ;  when  the  Doctor  almost  always 
gave  us  a  fee.  If  he  ilid  not  dine  at  home  (and  I  own  his  absence 
did  not  much  damp  our  pleasure),  Brice  would  lay  a  small  enclosure 
on  the  young  gentlemen's  coats,  which  we  transferred  to  our  pockets. 
I  believe  schoolboys  disdain  fees  in  the  present  disinterested  times. 

Everything  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house  was  as  handsome  as  might  be, 
and  yet  somehow  the  place  was  not  cheerful.  One's  steps  fell  noise- 
lessly on  the  foded  Turkey  carpet ;  the  room  was  large,  and  all  save 
the  dining-table  in  a  dingy  twilight.  The  picture  of  Mrs.  Firmin 
looked  at  us  from  the  wall,  and  followed  us  about  with  wild  violet  eyes. 
Philip  Firmin  had  the  same  violet  odd  bright  eyes,  and  the  same 
coloured  hair  of  an  auburn  tinge  ;  in  the  picture  it  fell  in  long  wild 
masses  over  the  lady's  back  as  she  leaned  with  bare  arms  on  a  harp. 
Over  tlie  sideboard  was  the  Doctor,  in  a  black  velvet  coat  and  a  fur 
collar,  his  hand  on  a  skull,  like  Hamlet.  Skulls  of  oxen,  horned, 
with  wreaths,  formed  the  cheerful  ornaments  of  the  cornice.  On  the 
side-table  glittered  a  pair  of  cui)s,  given  by  grateful  patients,  looking 
like  receptacles  rather  for  funereal  ashes  than  for  festive  flowers  or 
wine.  Brice,  the  butler,  wore  the  gravity  and  costume  of  an  under- 
taker. The  footman  stealthily  moved  hither  and  thither,  bearing 
the  dinner  to  us  ;  we  always  spoke  under  our  breath  whilst  we  were 
eating  it.  "  The  room  don't  look  more  cheerful  of  a  morning  when 
the  patients  are  sitting  here,  I  can  tell  you,"  Phil  would  say  ;  indeed, 
we  could  well  fancy  that  it  was  dismal.  The  drawing-room  had  a 
rhubarb-coloured  flock  jtaper  (on  account  of  the  governor's  attachment 
to  the  shop,  Master  Phil  said),  a  great  piano,  a  harp  smothered  in 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      113 

a  leather  bag  in  the  corner,  which  tlie  languid  owner  now  never 
touched  ;  and  everybody's  face  seemed  scared  and  pale  in  the  great 
looking-glasses,  wliich  reflected  you  over  and  over  again  into  the 
distance,  so  tliat  you  seemed  to  twinkle  off  right  through  the 
Albany  into  Piccadilly. 

Old  Parr  Street  has  l)eeu  a  hal)itation  for  generations  of  surgeons 
and  i)hysicians.  I  suppose  the  nol:)lemen  for  whose  use  the  street 
was  intended  in  the  time  of  the  early  Georges  fled,  finding  the 
neighbourhood  too  dismal,  and  the  gentlemen  in  black  coats  came 
and  took  possession  of  the  gilded  gloomy  chambers  which  the  sacred 
mode  vacated.  These  mutations  of  fashion  have  always  been 
matters  of  profound  speculation  to  me.  Why  shall  not  one  moralise 
over  London,  as  over  Rome,  or  Baalbec,  or  Troy  town  ?  I  like  to 
walk  among  the  Hebrews  of  Wardour  Street,  and  fancy  the  ])]ace, 
as  it  once  was,  crowded  with  chairs  and  gilt  chariots,  and  torches 
flashing  in  the  hands  of  the  running  footmen.  I  have  a  grim 
pleasure  in  thinking  that  Golden  S(iuare  was  once  the  resort  of  tlie 
aristocracv,  and  Monmouth  Street  the  delight  of  the  genteel  world. 
What  shall  prevent  us  Londoners  from  musing  over  the  decline  and 
fall  of  city  sovereignties,  and  drawing  our  cockney  morals?  As  the 
late  Mr.  Gibbon  meditated  his  history  leaning  against  a  column  in 
the  Capitol,  why  should  not  I  muse  over  mine,  reclining  under  an 
arcade  of  the  Pantheon  ?  Not  the  Pantheon  at  Rome,  in  the 
Cabbage  Market  by  the  Piazza  Navona,  where  the  immortal 
gods  were  worshipped, — the  immortal  gods  who  are  now  dead ; 
but  the  Pantheon  in  Oxford  Street,  ladies,  where  you  purchan 
feeble  pomatums,  nmsic,  glassware,  and  baby-linen ;  and  wliich 
has  its  history  too.  Have  not  Selywn,  and  Walpole,  and  March, 
and  Carlisle  figured  there?  Has  not  Prince  Florizel  flounced 
through  the  hall  in  his  rustling  domino,  and  danced  there  in 
powdered  splendour  1  and  when  the  ushers  refused  admission  to 
lovely  Sophy  TIaddeley,  did  not  the  young  men,  her  adorers,  draw 
their  rapiers  and  vow  to  slay  the  doorkeepers  ;  and,  crossing  the 
glittering  blades  over  the  enchantress's  head,  make  a  Avarlike 
triumphal  aich  for  her  to  ]iass  under,  all  flushed,  and  smiling,  and 
j)erfunied,  and  painted  ?  Tlie  lives  of  streets  are  as  the  lives  of  men, 
and  shall  not  the  street-preacher,  if  so  minded,  take  for  the  text  of 
his  sermon  tlie  stones  in  the  gutter?  That  you  were  once  the  resort 
of  tiie  fashion,  0  IMonmouth  Street !  by  the  invocation  of  blessed  St. 
Giles  shall  I  not  improve  that  sweet  thought  into  a  godly  discourpe, 
and  make  the  ruin  edifying?  0  mes  freres  !  There  were  splendid 
thoroughfares,  dazzling  company,  bright  illuminations,  in  ovr  streets 
when  our  hearts  were  young  :  we  enteitaiiie<l  in  them  a  nol)le  youth- 
ful company  of  chivalrous  hopes  and  lofty  ambitions  ;  of  blushing 


114  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

thoughts  ill  snowy  robes  spotless  and  virginal.  See,  in  the 
embrasure  of  the  window,  wliere  you  sat  looking  to  the  stars,  and 
nestling  by  the  soft  side  of  your  first  love,  hang  Mr.  Moses's  bargains 
of  turned  old  clothes,  very  cheap ;  of  worn  old  boots,  bedraggled  in 
how  much  and  how  many  people's  mud ;  a  great  bargain.  See  ! 
along  the  street,  strewed  with  flowers  once  mayhap — a  fight  of 
beggars  for  the  refuse  of  an  apple-stall,  or  a  tipsy  basket-woman 
reeling  shrieking  to  the  station.  0  me !  0  my  beloved  congrega- 
tion !  I  have  preached  this  stale  sermon  to  you  for  ever  so  many 
years.  0  my  jolly  companions,  I  have  drunk  many  a  bout  with 
you,  and  always  found  vanitas  vanitatum  written  on  the  bottom  of 
the  pot ! 

I  choose  to  moralise  now  when  I  pass  the  place.  The  garden 
lias  run  to  seed,  the  walks  are  mildewed,  the  statues  have  broken 
noses,  tlie  gravel  is  dank  with  green  moss,  the  roses  are  withered, 
and  the  nightingales  have  ceased  to  make  love.  It  is  a  funereal 
street,  Old  Parr  Street,  certainly ;  the  carriages  which  drive  there 
ought  to  have  featliers  on  the  roof,  and  the  butlers  who  open  the 
doors  should  wear  weepers — so  the  scene  strikes  you  now  as  you 
pass  along  the  spacious  empty  pavement.  You  are  bilious,  my 
good  man.  Go  and  pay  a  guinea  to  one  of  the  doctors  in  those 
houses  :  there  are  still  doctors  there.  He  will  prescribe  taraxacum 
for  you,  or  pil :  hydrarg  :  Bless  you  !  in  my  time,  to  us  gentlemen 
of  the  fifth  form,  the  place  was  bearable.  The  yellow  fogs  didn't 
damp  our  spirits — and  we  never  thought  them  too  thick  to  keep  us 
away  from  the  play  :  from  the  chivalrous  Charles  Kemble,  I  tell 
you,  my  Mirabel,  my  Mercutio,  my  princely  Falconbridge :  from 
his  adorable  daugliter  (0  my  distracted  heart !) :  from  the  classic 
Young :  from  the  glorious  Long  Tom  Coffin  :  from  the  unearthly 
Vanderdecken — "  Pueturn,  0  my  love,  and  we'll  never  never  part " 
(where  art  thou,  sweet  singer  of  that  most  thrilling  ditty  of  my 
youth  ?) :  from  the  sweet  sweet  "  Victorine  "  and  the  "  Bottle  Imp." 
Oh,  to  see  that  "  Bottle  Imp  "  again,  and  hear  that  song  about  the 
"  Pilgrim  of  Love  !  "  Once — but,  hush  !  this  is  a  secret — we  had 
private  boxes,  the  Doctor's  grand  friends  often  sending  him  these  ; 
and,  finding  the  opera  rather  slow,  we  went  to  a  concert  in  M-d-n 
Lane,  near  Covent  Garden,  and  heard  the  most  celestial  glees, 
over  a  supper  of  fizzing  sausages  and  mashed  potatoes,  such  as  the 
world  has  never  seen  since.  We  did  no  harm ;  but  I  daresay  it 
was  very  wrong.  Brice,  the  butler,  ought  not  to  have  taken  us. 
We  bullied  him,  and  made  him  take  us  where  we  liked.  We  had 
rum-shrub  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  where  we  used  to  be  diverted 
by  the  society  of  other  butlers  of  the  neighbouring  nobility  and 
gentry,  who  would  step  in.      Perhaps  it  was  wrong  to  leave  us  so  to 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      115 

the  company  of  servants.  Dr.  Firrain  used  to  go  to  liis  grand 
pai-ties,  Mrs.  Firniin  to  bed.  "  Did  we  enjoy  the  i)erforniance  last 
night?"  our  host  would  ask  at  hreakfost.  "Oh,  yes,  we  enjoyed 
the  performance  ! "  But  my  i)oor  Mrs.  Firmin  fancied  that  we 
enjoyed  "  Semiramide "  or  the  "  Donna  del  Lago ; "  whereas  Ave 
had  been  to  the  i)it  at  the  Adelplii  (out  of  our  own  money),  and 
seen  that  jolly  Jolm  Reeve,  and  laughed — lavighed  till  we  were  fit 
to  drop — and  stayed  till  the  curtain  was  down.  And  then,  we 
would  come  home,  and,  as  aforesaid,  pass  a  delightful  hour  over 
supper,  and  hear  the  anecdotes  of  Mr.  Brice's  friends,  the  other 
butlers.  Ah,  that  was  a  time  indeed  !  There  never  was  any  liquor 
so  good  as  rum-shrub,  never ;  and  the  sausages  had  a  flavour  of 
Elysium.  How  hushed  we  were  when  Dr.  Firmin,  coming  home 
from  his  parties,  let  himself  in  at  the  street-door !  Shoeless,  we 
crept  up  to  our  bedrooms.  And  we  came  down  to  breakfast  with 
iiuiocent  young  faces — and  let  ]\Irs.  Firmin,  at  lunch,  prattle  about 
the  opera ;  and  there  stood  Brice  and  the  footman  behind  us,  look- 
ing quite  grave,  the  abominable  hypocrites  ! 

Then,  sir,  there  was  a  certain  way,  out  of  the  study  window, 
or  through  the  kitchen,  and  over  the  leads,  to  a  building,  gloomy 
indeed,  but  where  I  own  to  have  spent  delightful  hours  of  the 
most  flagitious  and  criminal  enjoyment  of  some  delicious  little 
Havannahs,  ten  to  the  shilling.  In  that  building  there  Avere 
stables  once,  doubtless  occupied  by  great  Flemish  horses  and 
rumbling  gold  coaches  of  Walpole's  time;  but  a  celebrated  surgeon, 
when  he  took  possession  of  the  house,  made  a  lecture-room  of  the 
premises — "And  this  door,"  says  Phil,  pointing  to  one  leading  into 
the  mews,  "  was  very  convenient  for  having  ihe  bodies  in  and  out " 
■ — a  cheerful  reminiscence.  Of  this  kind  of  furniture  there  was 
now  very  little  in  the  apartment,  except  a  dilapidated  skeleton  in  a 
corner,  a  few  dusty  casts  of  heads,  and  bottles  of  ])reparations  on 
the  top  of  an  old  bureau,  and  some  mildewed  harness  hanging  on 
the  walls.  This  apartment  became  Mr.  Phil's  smoking-room  when, 
as  he  grew  taller,  he  felt  himself  too  dignified  to  sit  in  the  kitchen 
regions  :  the  honest  butler  and  housekeeper  themselves  pointing  out 
to  their  young  master  that  his  place  Avas  elscAvhcre  than  among 
the  servants.  So  there,  privately  and  Avith  great  delectation,  we 
smoked  many  an  a1x)minab]e  cigar  in  that  dreary  back  room,  the 
gaunt  walls  and  twilight  ceilings  of  Avhicli  Avere  by  no  means 
melancholy  to  us,  Avho  found  forbidden  ])lcas\n-es  the  sweetest,  after 
the  absurd  fashion  of  boys.  Dr.  Firmin  was  an  enemy  to  smoking, 
and  ever  accustomed  to  speak  of  the  j)ractice  with  eloquent  indig- 
nation. "  It  was  a  low  practice — the  habit  of  cabmen,  pot-house 
fro(|U(Mit(Ts,  and  Irisli  ajijilc  woiucu,"  the  Doctor  Avonld  say,  as  Phil 


116  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  his  friend  looked  at  each  other  with  a  stealthy  joy.  Phil's 
fatlier  was  ever  scented  and  neat,  the  pattern  of  handsome  propriety. 
Perhaps  he  had  a  clearer  perception  regarding  manners  than  respect- 
ing morals ;  perhaps  his  conversation  was  full  of  platitudes,  his 
talk  (concerning  people  of  fashion  chiefly)  mean  and  uninstructive, 
his  behaviour  to  young  Lord  Eghani  rather  fulsome  and  lacking  of 
dignity.  Perhaps,  I  say,  the  idea  may  have  entei'ed  into  young 
Mr.  Pendennis's  mind  that  his  hospitable  entertainer  and  friend, 
Dr.  Firmin,  of  Old  Parr  Street,  was  what  at  the  present  day  might 
be  denominated  an  old  humbug ;  but  modest  young  men  do  not 
come  quickly  to  such  unpleasant  conclusions  regarding  their  seniors. 
Dr.  Firmin's  manners  were  so  good,  his  forehead  was  so  high,  his 
frill  so  fresh,  his  hands  so  white  and  slim,  that  for  some  considerable 
time  we  ingenuously  admired  him ;  and  it  was  not  without  a  pang 
tliat  we  came  to  view  him  as  he  actually  was — no,  not  as  he 
actually  was — no  man  whose  early  nurture  was  kindly  can  judge 
quite  impartially  the  man  who  has  been  kind  to  him  in  boyhood. 

I  quitted  school  suddenly,  leaving  my  little  Phil  behind  me,  a 
brave  little  handsome  boy,  endearing  himself  to  old  and  young  by 
his  good  looks,  his  gaiety,  his  courage,  and  his  gentlemanly  bearing. 
Once  in  a  way  a  letter  would  come  from  him,  full  of  that  artless 
affection  and  tenderness  whi(;h  fills  boys'  hearts,  and  is  so  touch- 
ing in  their  letters.  It  was  answered  with  proper  dignity  and 
condescension  on  the  senior  boy's  part.  Our  modest  little  country 
liome  kept  up  a  friendly  intercourse  with  Dr.  Firmin's  grand 
London  mansion,  of  which,  in  his  visits  to  us,  my  uncle.  Major 
Pendennis,  did  not  fail  to  bring  news.  A  correspondence  took 
place  between  the  ladies  of  each  house.  We  supplied  Mrs.  Firmin 
with  little  country  jn-esents,  tokens  of  my  mother's  goodwill  and 
gratitude  towards  the  friends  wlio  had  been  kind  to  her  son.  I 
went  my  way  to  the  university,  having  occasional  glimpses  of  Phil 
at  school.  I  took  chambers  in  the  Temple,  which  he  found  great 
deligiit  in  visiting ;  and  he  liked  our  homely  dinner  from  Dick's, 
and  a  bed  on  tlie  sofa,  better  tlian  the  splendid  entertainments  in 
Old  Parr  Street  and  his  great  gloomy  chamber  there.  He  had 
grown  by  this  time  to  be  ever  so  much  taller  than  his  senior,  though 
he  always  persists  in  looking  up  to  me  unto  the  present  day. 

A  very  few  weeks  after  my  poor  mother  passed  that  judgment 
on  Mrs.  Firmin,  she  saw  reason  to  regret  and  revoke  it.  Phil's 
mother,  who  was  afraid,  or  perhaps  was  forbidden,  to  attend  her 
son  in  his  illness  at  school,  was  taken  ill  herself 

Phil  returned  to  Grey  Friars  in  a  deep  suit  of  black ;  the 
servants  on  the  carriage  wore  black  too ;  and  a  certain  tyrant  of 
the  i^lace,  lieginning  to  laugh  and  jeer  because  Firmin's  eyes  filled 


ON   HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      117 

with  tears  at  some  ribald  remark,  was  gruffly  rebuked  by  Sampson 
major,  the  cock  of  the  whole  school ;  and  with  the  question,  "  I)on't 
you  see  the  poor  beggar's  in  mourning,  you  great  brute  1 "  was 
kicked  about  his  business. 

When  Philip  Firmin  and  I  met  again,  there  was  crape  on  both 
our  hats.  I  (U)n't  think  either  could  see  the  other's  face  very  well. 
I  went  to  see  him  in  Parr  Street,  in  the  vacant  melancholy  house, 
where  the  poor  mother's  picture  was  yet  hanging  in  her  empty 
drawing-room. 

"  Slie  was  always  fond  of  you,  Pendennis,"  said  Phil.  "God 
bless  you  for  being  so  good  to  her.  You  know  what  it  is  to  lose — 
to  lose  what  loves  you  best  in  the  world.  I  didn't  know  how — 
how  I  loved  her,  till  I  had  lost  her."  And  many  a  sob  broke  his 
words  as  he  spoke. 

Her  picture  was  removed  from  the  drawing-room  presently  into 
Phil's  own  little  study — the  room  in  which  he  sat  and  defied  his 
father.  Wliat  had  passed  between  them  1  The  young  man  Avas 
very  nmcli  changed.  The  frank  looks  of  old  days  were  gone,  and 
Phil's  face  was  haggard  and  bold.  The  Doctor  would  not  let  me 
have  a  word  more  with  his  son  after  he  had  found  us  together,  but 
with  dubious  aj){»ealing  looks,  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  shut 
it  upon  me.      I  felt  that  it  clos(>d  upon  two  uidia])i)y  men. 


CHAPTER    III 

A    CONSULTATION 

SHOULD  I  peer  into  Firmin's  privacy,  and  find  the  key  to  that 
secret  ?  What  skeleton  was  there  in  the  closet  1  In  the 
Cornhill  Magazine*  you  may  remember,  there  were  some 
verses  about  a  portion  of  a  skeleton.  Did  you  remark  how  the 
poet  and  present  proprietor  of  the  human  skull  at  once  settled  the 
sex  of  it,  and  determined  oft-hand  that  it  must  have  belonged  to  a 
woman  1  Such  skulls  are  locked  up  in  many  gentlemen's  hearts  and 
memories.  Bluebeard,  you  know,  had  a  whole  museum  of  them — 
as  that  imprudent  little  last  wife  of  his  found  out  to  her  cost.  And, 
on  the  other  hand,  a  lady,  we  suppose,  would  select  hers  of  the  sort 
which  had  carried  beards  when  in  the  fl(;sh.  Given  a  neat  locked 
skeleton  cupboard,  belonging  to  a  man  of  a  certain  age,  to  ascertain 
tlie  sex  of  the  original  owner  of  the  bones,  you  have  not  much  need 
of  a  picklock  or  a  blacksmith.  There  is  no  use  in  forcing  the  hinge, 
or  scratching  the  i)retty  panel.  We  know  what  is  inside — we  arch 
rogues  and  men  of  the  world.  Murders,  I  suppose,  are  not  many — 
enemies  and  victims  of  our  hate  and  anger,  destroyed  and  trampled 
out  of  life  by  us,  and  locked  out  of  sight :  but  corpses  of  our  dead 
loves,  my  dear  sir — my  dear  madam — have  we  not  got  them  stowed 
away  in  cupboard  after  cupboard,  in  bottle  after  bottle  ^  Oh,  fie  ! 
And  young  peojjle  !  What  doctrine  is  this  to  preach  to  them,  who 
spell  your  book  by  papa's  and  mamma's  knee^  Yes,  and  how 
wrong  it  is  to  let  them  go  to  church,  and  see  and  hear  papa  and 
mamma  publicly  on  their  knees,  calling  out,  and  confessing  to  the 
whole  congregation,  that  they  are  sinners !  So,  though  I  had  not 
the  key,  I  could  see  through  the  panel  and  the  glimmering  of  the 
skeleton  inside. 

Although  the  elder  Firmin  followed  me  to  the  door,  and  his 
eyes  only  left  me  as  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street,  I  felt  sure 
that  Phil  ere  long  would  open  his  mind  to  me,  or  give  me  some  clue 
to  that  mystery.  I  should  hear  from  him  why  his  bright  cheeks 
had   become   hollow,  why  his   fresh   voice,  which   I   remember  so 

*  Nu.  12  :  December  1860. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     II9 

honeat  aud  cheerful,  was  now  harsh  and  sarcastic,  witli  tones  that 
often  grated  on  tlie  hearer,  and  laughter  that  gave  pain.  It  was 
about  Philip  himself  that  my  anxieties  were.  The  young  fellow 
had  inherited  from  his  poor  mother  a  considerable  fortune — some 
eight  or  nine  hundred  a  year,  we  always  understood.  He  was 
living  in  a  costly,  not  to  say  extravagant  manner.  I  thought  Mr. 
Philip's  juvenile  remorses  were  locked  up  in  the  skeleton  closet,  and 
was  grieved  to  think  he  liad  fallen  in  mischiefs  way.  Hence, 
no  doubt,  might  arise  the  anger  between  him  and  his  father.  The 
boy  was  extravagant  aud  headstrong ;  and  the  parent  remonstrant 
and  irritated. 

I  met  my  old  friend  Dr.  Goodenough  at  the  club  one  evening  ; 
and  as  we  dined  together  I  discoursed  with  him  about  his  former 
patient,  and  recalled  to  him  that  day,  years  back,  when  the  boy 
was  ill  at  school,  and  when  my  i)oor  mother  and  Phil's  own  were 
yet  alive. 

Goodenough  looked  very  grave. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  the  boy  was  very  ill ;  he  was  nearly  gone 
at  that  time — at  that  time — when  his  mother  w'as  in  the  Isle  of 
Wight,  and  his  father  dangling  after  a  })rince.  We  thought  one 
day  it  was  all  over  with  him  ;  but " 

"  But  a  good  doctor  interposed  between  liim  ami  jxiUida  ?»o?-s." 

"A  good  doctor?  a  good  nurse!  The  boy  was  delirious,  and 
had  a  fancy  to  walk  out  of  window,  and  would  have  done  so,  but 
for  one  of  my  nurses.     You  know  her." 

"What!  the  Little  Sister?" 

"Yes,  the  Little  Sister." 

"  And  it  was  she  who  nursed  Phil  through  his  fever,  and  saved 
his  life  1     I  drink  her  health.     She  is  a  good  little  soul." 

"Good  !  "  said  the  Doctor,  with  his  gruffest  voice  and  frown. — 
(He  was  always  most  fierce  when  lie  was  most  tender-hearted.) 
"Good,  indeed!  Will  you  have  some  more  of  this  duck? — Do. 
You  have  iiad  enough  already,  and  it's  very  unwliolesonie.  Good, 
sir  ?  But  for  women,  fire  and  brimstone  ought  to  come  down  and 
consume  this  world.  Your  dear  mother  was  one  of  the  good  ones. 
I  was  attending  you  when  you  were  ill,  at  those  horrible  chambers 
you  had  in  the  Temple,  at  the  same  time  when  young  Firmin  was 
ill  at  Grey  Frinrs.  And  I  su])]iose  I  must  be  answerable  for  keep- 
ing two  scajjcgnu'es  in  the  world." 

"Why  didn't  Dr.  Firmin  come  to  see  him?" 

"  Hm  !  his  nerves  were  too  delicate.  Besides,  he  did  come. 
Talk  of  tlie  *  *  *  " 

The  personage  designated  by  asterisks  was  Phil's  father,  who 
was  also  a  tncmber  of  our  rluli,  and  who  entered   the  dininir-room. 


120  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tall,  stately,  and  pale,  with  his  stereotyped  smile,  and  wave  of  liis 
pretty  hand.  By  the  way,  that  smile  of  Firmin's  was  a  very  queer 
contortion  of  the  handsome  features.  As  you  came  up  to  him,  he 
would  draw  his  lips  over  his  teeth,  causing  his  jaws  to  wrinkle  (or 
dimjjle,  if  you  will)  on  either  side.  Meanwhile  his  eyes  looked 
out  from  his  face,  quite  melancholy  and  independent  of  the  little 
transaction  in  which  the  mouth  was  engaged.  Lips  said,  "  I  am  a 
gentleman  of  fine  manners  and  fascinating  address,  and  I  am  sup- 
posed to  be  happy  to  see  you.  How  do  you  do  1 "  Dreary,  sad,  as 
into  a  great  blank  desert,  looked  the  dark  eyes.  I  do  know  one  or 
two,  but  only  one  or  two  faces  of  men,  when  oppressed  with  care, 
which  can  yet  smile  all  over. 

Goodenough  nods  grimly  to  the  smile  of  the  other  doctor,  wlio 
blandly  looks  at  our  table,  holding  his  cliin  in  one  of  his  pretty 
hands. 

"  How  do  1 "  growls  Goodenough.      "  Young  hopeful  well  ?  " 

"Young  hopeful  sits  smoking  cigars  till  morning  with  some 
friends  of  his,"  says  Firmin,  with  the  sad  smile  directed  towards  me 
this  time.  "  Boys  will  be  boys."  And  he  pensively  walks  away 
from  us  with  a  friendly  nod  towards  me ;  examines  the  dinner-card 
in  an  attitude  of  melancholy  grace ;  points  with  the  jewelled  hand 
to  the  dishes  which  he  will  have  served,  and  is  otf,  and  simpering  to 
another  acquaintance  at  a  distant  table. 

"I  thought  he  would  take  that  table,"  says  Firmin's  cynical 
confrere. 

"  In  the  draught  of  the  door  1  Don't  you  see  how  the  candle 
flickers  1     It  is  the  worst  place  in  the  room  !  " 

"  Yes  ;   but  don't  you  see  who  is  sitting  at  the  next  table  1 " 

Now  at  the  next  table  was  a  n-blem-n  of  vast  wealth,  who  was 
growling  at  the  quality  of  tlie  mutton  cutlets,  and  the  half-pint  of 
sherry  wliich  he  had  ordered  for  his  dinner.  But  as  his  Lordship 
has  notliing  to  do  with  the  ensuing  history,  of  course  we  shall  not 
violate  confidence  by  mentioning  his  name.  We  could  see  Firmin 
smiling  on  his  neighbour  with  his  blandest  melancholy,  and  the 
waiters  presently  bearing  up  the  dishes  which  the  Doctor  had  ordered 
for  his  own  refection.  Re  was  no  lover  of  mutton-(diops  and  coarse 
sherry,  as  I  knew  who  had  partaken  of  many  a  feast  at  his  board. 
I  could  see  the  diamond  twinkle  on  his  pretty  hand  as  it  daintily 
poured  out  creaming  wine  from  the  ice-pail  by  his  side — the  liberal 
hand  that  had  given  me  many  a  sovereign  when  I  was  a  boy. 

"  I  can't  help  liking  him,*'  I  said  to  my  companion,  whose  scorn- 
ful eyes  were  now  and  again  directed  towards  his  colleague. 

"  This  port  is  very  sweet.  Almost  all  port  is  sweet  now," 
remarks  the  Doctor. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THKOUGH    THE    WORLD      121 

He  was  very  kind  to  nu;  in  my  schooldays ;  and  Philip  was 
a  fine  little  fellow." 

"  Handsome  a  hoy  as  ever  I  saw.  Does  he  keep  his  beauty  1 
Father  was  a  handsome  man — very.  Qnite  a  lady-killer — I  mean 
out  of  his  practice  !  "  adds  the  grim  Doctor.  "  What  is  the  boy 
doing  ? " 

"  He  is  at  the  university.  He  has  his  mother's  fortune.  He 
is  wild  and  unsettled,  and  I  fear  he  is  going  to  the  bad  a  little." 

"  Is  he  ?     Shouldn't  wonder  !  "  grumbles  Goodenough. 

We  had  talked  very  frankly  and  i)leasantly  until  the  appear- 
ance of  the  other  doctor,  but  with  Firmin's  arrival  Goodenough 
seemed  to  button  up  his  conversation.  He  quickly  stumped  away 
from  tlie  dining-room  to  the  drawing-room,  and  sat  over  a  novel 
there  until  time  came  when  he  was  to  retire  to  his  patients  or  his 
home. 

That  there  was  no  liking  between  the  doctors,  that  there  was  a 
difference  between  Philip  and  his  father,  was  clear  enough  to  me ; 
l)ut  the  causes  of  these  differences  I  had  yet  to  learn.  The  story 
came  to  me  piecemeal ;  from  confessions  here,  admissions  there, 
<leductions  of  my  own.  I  could  not,  of  course,  be  present  at  many 
of  the  scenes  which  I  shall  have  to  relate  as  though  I  had  witnessed 
them  ;  and  the  posture,  language,  and  inward  thoughts  of  Philip 
and  his  friends,  as  here  related,  no  doubt  are  fancies  of  the  narrator 
in  many  cases  ;  but  the  story  is  as  authentic  as  many  histories,  and 
the  reader  need  only  give  such  an  amount  of  credence  to  it  as  he 
may  judge  that  its  verisimilitude  warrants. 

Well,  then,  we  must  not  only  revert  to  that  illness  which  befell 
when  Philip  Firmin  was  a  Ttoy  at  Grey  Friars,  but  go  back  yet 
farther  in  time  to  a  ])eriod  which  I  cannot  pre(;isely  ascertain. 

The  i)upils  of  old  Gandish's  painting  academy  may  remember 
a  ridiculous  little  man,  with  a  great  deal  of  wihl  talent,  about  the 
ultimate  success  of  which  his  friends  were  divided.  Whether  Andrew 
was  a  genius,  or  wiicther  he  was  a  zany,  was  always  a  moot  question 
among  the  f^-equenters  of  the  Greek  Street  billiard-rooms,  and  the 
noble  disciples  of  the  Academy  and  St.  Martin's  Lane.  He  may 
have  been  crazy  and  absurd  ;  he  may  have  had  talent  too :  such 
characters  are  not  unknown  in  art  or  in  literature.  He  broke  the 
Queen's  Englisli  ;  he  was  ignorant  to  a  wonder  ;  he  dressed  his  little 
person  in  the  most  fantastic  raiment  and  (jueerest  cheaj)  finery :  he 
wore  a  beard,  bless  my  soul !  twenty  years  before  beards  were  known 
to  wag  in  Pritain.  He  was  the  most  afiected  little  creature,  and, 
if  you  looked  at  him,  would  ^^wwc  in  attitudes  of  sucli  ludicrous  dirty 
dignity,  that  if  you  iiad  had  a  dun  waiting  for  money  in  the  hall  of 
your  hxlging-housc,  or  your  jucture  refused  at  the  Academy — if  you 


122  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

were  suffering  under  ever  so  mueli  calamity — you  could  not  help 
laughing.  He  was  the  butt  of  all  his  acquaintances,  the  laughing- 
stoclc  of  high  and  low,  and  he  had  as  loving,  gentle,  faithful,  honour- 
able a  heart  as  ever  beat  in  a  little  bosom.  He  is  gone  to  his  rest 
now ;  his  palette  and  easel  are  waste  timber  ;  his  genius,  which 
made  some  little  flicker  of  brightness,  never  shone  much,  and  is 
extinct.  In  an  old  album  tliat  dates  back  for  more  than  a  score 
of  years,  I  sometimes  look  at  poor  Andrew's  strange  wild  sketches. 
He  might  have  done  something  had  he  continued  to  remain  poor ; 
but  a  rich  widow,  wlioni  he  met  at  Rome,  fell  in  love  with  the 
strange  errant  painter,  pursued  him  to  England,  and  married  him 
in  spite  of  himself.  His  genius  drooped  under  the  servitude  :  he 
lived  but  a  few  short  years,  and  died  of  a  consumption,  of  which 
the  good  Goodenough's  skill  could  not  cure  him. 

One  day,  as  he  was  driving  with  his  wife  in  her  splendid 
barouche  through  the  Haymarket,  he  suddenly  bade  the  coachman 
stop,  sprang  over  tlie  side  of  the  carriage  before  the  steps  could 
be  let  fall,  and  his  astonished  wife  saw  him  shaking  the  hands  of 
a  shabbily  dressed  little  woman  who  was  passing, — shaking  both 
her  hands,  and  weeping,  and  gesticulating,  and  twisting  his  beard 
and  mustachios,  as  his  wont  was  when  agitated.  Mrs.  Montfitchet 
(the  wealthy  Mrs.  Oarrickfergus  she  had  been,  before  she  married 
the  painter),  the  owner  of  a  young  husband,  who  had  sprung  from 
her  side,  and  out  of  her  carriage,  in  order  to  caress  a  young  woman 
passing  in  the  street,  might  well  be  disturbed  by  this  demonstra- 
tion ;  but  she  was  a  kind-hearted  woman,  and  when  Montfitchet,  on 
reascending  into  the  family  coach,  told  his  wife  the  history  of  the 
person  of  whom  he  liad  just  taken  leave,  she  cried  plentifully  too. 
She  bade  the  coachman  drive  straiglitway  to  her  own  house :  she 
rushed  up  to  her  own  apartments,  whence  she  emerged,  bearing 
an  immense  bag  full  of  wearing  apparel,  and  followed  by  a  pant- 
ing butler,  carrying  a  bottle-basket  and  a  pie :  and  she  drove  off, 
with  her  pleased  Andrew  by  her  side,  to  a  court  in  St.  Martin's 
Lane,  wliere  dwelt  the  poor  woman  with  whom  he  bad  just  been 
conversing. 

It  had  pleased  Heaven,  in  the  midst  of  dreadful  calamity,  to 
send  her  friends  and  succour.  She  was  suffering  under  misfortune, 
poverty,  and  cowardly  desertion.  A  man  who  had  called  himself 
Brandon  when  he  took  lodgings  in  her  father's  house,  married  her, 
brouglit  lier  to  London,  tired  of  her,  and  left  her.  She  had  reason 
to  think  he  had  given  a  flilse  name  when  he  lodged  with  her  father  : 
he  fled,  after  a  few  months,  and  his  real  name  she  never  knew. 
When  he  deserted  her,  she  went  back  to  her  father,  a  weak  man, 
married  to  a  domineering  woman,  who  pretended  to  disbelieve  the 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROXTGH    THE    WORLD      12.3 

story  of  her  marriage,  and  drove  her  from  the  door.  Desperate, 
and  almost  mad,  she  came  back  to  London,  where  she  still  had 
some  little  relics  of  property  that  her  fugitive  husband  left  beliind 
him.  He  promised,  when  he  left  her,  to  remit  her  money  ;  but 
he  sent  none,  or  she  refused  it — or,  in  her  wildness  and  despair, 
lost  the  dreadful  paper  which  announced  his  desertion,  and  that 
he  was  married  before,  and  that  to  pursue  him  would  ruin  him, 
and  he  knew  she  never  would  do  that — no,  however  much  he  might 
have  wronged  her. 

She  was  penniless  then, — deserted  by  all, — having  made  away 
with  the  last  trinket  of  her  brief  days  of  love,  having  sold  the 
last  little  remnant  of  her  poor  little  stock  of  clothing, — alone  in 
the  great  wilderness  of  London,  wlien  it  pleased  God  to  send  her 
succour  in  the  person  of  an  old  friend  who  had  known  her,  and 
even  loved  her,  in  liappier  days.  When  the  Samaritans  came  to 
this  poor  cliild,  they  found  her  sick  and  shuddering  with  fever. 
They  brought  their  doctor  to  her,  who  is  never  so  eager  as  wlien 
he  runs  up  a  poor  man's  stair.  And,  as  he  watched  by  the  bed 
where  her  kind  friends  came  to  help  her,  he  heard  her  sad  little 
story  of  trust  and  desertion. 

Her  father  was  a  humble  person  who  had  seen  better  days  ; 
and  poor  little  Mrs.  Brandon  had  a  sweetness  and  simplicity  of 
manner  winch  exceedingly  touched  the  good  Doctor.  She  had 
little  e<lucati()n,  except  that  which  silence,  long-suffering,  seclusion, 
will  sometimes  give.  When  cured  of  her  illness,  there  was  the 
great  and  constant  evil  of  poverty  to  meet  and  overcome.  How 
was  she  to  live?  He  got  to  be  as  fond  of  her  as  of  a  child  of 
his  own.  She  was  tidy,  thrifty,  gay  at  times,  with  a  little  simple 
cheerfulness.  The  little  flowers  began  to  bloom  as  the  sunshine 
touched  them.  Her  whole  life  hitherto  had  been  cowering  under 
neglect,  and  tyranny,  and  gloom. 

Mr.  Montfitchet  was  for  coming  so  often  to  look  after  the  little 
outcast  whom  he  had  succoured,  that  I  am  bound  to  say  Mrs.  M. 
became  hysterically  jealous,  and  waited  for  him  on  the  st;iiis  as 
he  came  down  swathed  in  his  Spanish  cloak,  pounced  o]i  him.  and 
called  Inm  a  monster.  Goodenough  was  also,  I  fancy,  suspicious 
of  Montfitchet,  and  Montfitchet  of  Goodenough.  Howbeit,  the 
Doctor  vowed  that  he  never  had  other  than  the  feeling  of  a  father 
towards  his  poor  little  ^jro^cr/ei?,  nor  could  any  father  be  more 
tender.  He  did  not  try  to  take  her  out  of  her  station  in  life. 
He  found,  or  she  found  for  lierself,  a  work  which  she  could  do. 
"  Pajxi  u.sed  to  say  no  one  ever  nursed  him  so  nice  as  I  did,"  she 
said.  "I  think  I  coidd  do  that  better  than  anything,  except  my 
needle,  but  I   like  to  In;  useful  to  poor  sick  jx'uplc  best.      I  don't 


124  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

think  about  myself  then,  sir."  And  for  this  business  good  Mr. 
GooderKHigli  liad  lier  educated  and  employed. 

The  widow  died  in  course  of  time  wliom  Mrs.  Brandon's  father 
had  married,  and  her  daughters  refused  to  kee})  liiin,  s}>eaking  very 
disrespectfully  of  tliis  old  Mr.  Gann,  who  was,  indeed,  a  weak 
old  man.  And  now  Caroline  came  to  the  rescue  of  her  old  flxther. 
She  was  a  shrewd  little  Caroline.  She  had  saved  a  little  money. 
Goodenough  gave  up  a  country-house,  winch  he  did  not  care  to 
use,  and  lent  Mrs.  Brandon  the  furniture.  She  thought  she  could 
keep  a  lodging-house  and  find  lodgers.  Montfitchet  had  painted 
her.  There  was  a  sort  of  beauty  about  her  which  the  artists 
admired.  When  Ridley  the  Academician  had  the  small-pox,  she 
attended  him,  and  caught  the  malady.  Slie  did  not  mind ;  not 
she.  "  It  won't  spoil  my  beauty,"  she  said.  Nor  did  it.  The 
disease  dealt  very  kindly  with  her  little  modest  face.  I  don't 
know  wlio  gave  her  the  nickname,  but  she  had  a  good  roomy  house 
in  Thoridiaugh  Street,  an  artist  on  the  first  and  second  floor ;  and 
tiiere  never  was  a  word  of  scandal  against  the  Little  Sister,  for 
was  not  her  father  in  permanence  sipping  gin-and-water  in  the 
grounil-floor  parlour]  As  we  called  her  "the  Little  Sister,"  her 
fatlier  was  called  "  the  Captain  "—a  bragging,  lazy,  good-natured 
old  man — not  a  reputable  captain — and  very  cheerful,  though  the 
conduct  of  his  children,  he  said,  had  repeatedly  broken  his  heart. 

I  don't  know  how  many  years  tlie  Little  Sister  had  been  on 
duty  when  Philip  Firmin  had  his  scarlet  fever.  It  befell  him  at 
the  end  of  the  term,  just  when  all  the  boys  were  going  home. 
His  tutor  and  his  tutor's  wife  wanted  their  holidays,  and  sent 
their  own  children  out  of  the  way.  As  Pliil's  father  was  absent, 
Dr.  Goodenough  came,  and  sent  his  nurse  in.  The  case  grew 
worse,  so  bad  tliat  Doctor  Firmin  was  summoned  from  the  Isle 
of  Wight,  and  arrived  one  evening  at  Grey  Friars — Grey  Friars 
so  silent  now,  so  noisy  at  other  times  with  the  shouts  and  crowds 
of  the  playground. 

Dr.  Goodenough's  carriage  was  at  the  door  when  Dr.  Firmin's 
carriage  drove  up. 

"  How  was  the  boy  1 " 

"  He  had  been  very  bad.  He  had  been  wrong  in  the  head  all 
day,  talking  and  laughing  quite  wild-like,"  the  servant  said. 

The  father  ran  up  the  stairs. 

Phil  was  in  a  great  room,  in  which  were  several  empty  beds 
of  boys  gone  home  for  the  holidays.  The  windows  were  opened 
into  Grey  Friars  Square.  Goodenough  heard  his  colleague's  carriage 
drive  up,  and  riglitly  divined  tliat  Phil's  father  had  arrived.  He 
came  out,  and  met  Firmin  in  the  anteroom. 


WHAT    NATHAN    SAID    INTO    DAVID. 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD     125 

"  Head  has  wandered  a  little.  Better  now,  and  quiet ;  "  and 
the  one  doctor  nmrniured  to  the  other  the  treatment  which  he  had 
pursued. 

Firniiu  stcjit  in  gently  towards  the  patient,  near  whose  side 
the  Little  Sister  was  standini;. 

"Who  is  it?"  asked  Phil. 

"It  is  I,  <lear.  Your  fatlier,"  said  Dr.  Firmin,  with  real 
tenderness  in  his  voice. 

The  Little  Sister  turned  round  once,  and  fell  down  like  a  stone 
by  the  bedside. 

"You  infernal  villain!"  said  Goodenough,  with  an  oath,  and  a 
step  forward.      "  You  are  the  man  !  " 

"  Hush !  The  patient,  if  you  please.  Dr.  Goodenougli,"  said 
the  other  physician. 


CHAPTER  IV 

GENTEEL    FAMILY 

HAVE  you  made  up  your  mind  on  the  question  of  seeming  and 
being  in  the  world  ?  I  mean,  suppose  you  ar-e  poor,  is  it 
right  for  you  to  seem  to  be  well  off?  Have  people  an  honest 
right  to  keep  up  appearances  ?  Are  you  justified  in  starving  your 
dinner-table  in  order  to  keep  a  carriage  1  to  have  such  an  expensive 
house  that  you  can't  by  any  possibility  help  a  poor  relation  1  to 
array  your  daughters  in  costly  milliners'  wares  because  they  live 
with  girls  whose  parents  are  twice  as  rich  ?  Sometimes  it  is  hard 
to  say  where  honest  pride  ends  and  hypocrisy  begins.  To  obtrude 
your  poverty  is  mean  and  slavish  :  as  it  is  odious  for  a  beggar  to 
ask  compassion  by  showing  his  sores.  But  to  simulate  prosperity 
— to  be  wealthy  and  lavish  thrice  a  year  when  you  ask  your  friends, 
and  for  the  rest  of  the  time  to  munch  a  crust  and  sit  by  one  candle 
— are  the  folks  who  practise  this  deceit  worthy  of  applause  or  a 
whipping?  Sometimes  it  is  noble  pride,  sometimes  shabby  swind- 
ling. When  I  see  Eugenia  witli  her  dear  children  exquisitely  neat 
and  cheerful ;  not  showing  the  slightest  semblance  of  poverty,  or 
uttering  the  smallest  complaint ;  persisting  that  Squanderfield,  her 
husband,  treats  her  well,  and  is  good  at  heart ;  and  denying  that 
he  leaves  her  and  her  young  ones  in  want ;  I  admire  and  reverence 
that  noble  falsehood — that  beautiful  constancy  and  endurance  which 
disdains  to  ask  compassion.  When  I  sit  at  poor  Jezebella's  table, 
and  am  treated  to  her  sham  bounties  and  shabby  splendour,  I  only 
feel  auger  for  the  hospitality,  and  that  dinner,  and  guest,  and  host, 
are  humbugs  together. 

Talbot  Twysden's  dinner-table  is  large,  and  the  guests  most 
respectable.  There  is  always  a  bigwig  or  two  present,  and  a 
dining  dowager  who  frequents  the  greatest  houses.  There  is  a 
butler  who  offers  you  wine ;  there's  a  memo  du  diner  before  Mrs. 
Twysden  ;  and  to  read  it  you  would  fancy  you  were  at  a  good 
dinner.  It  tastes  of  chopped  straw.  Oh,  the  dreary  sparkle  of 
that  feeble  champagne ;  the  audacity  of  that  public-house  sherry ; 
the  swindle  of  that  acrid  claret ;  the  fiery  twang  of  that  clammy 
port.     I  have  tried  them  all,  I  tell  you  !     It  is  sham  wine,  a  sham 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     127 

dinner,  a  sham  welcome,  a  sham  cheerfulness  among  the  guests 
assembled.  I  feel  that  that  woman  eyes  and  counts  the  cutlets  as 
they  are  carried  off  the  tables ;  perhaps  watches  that  one  which 
you  try  to  swallow.  She  has  counted  and  grudged  each  candle  by 
whicli  tiie  cook  prepares  the  meal.  Does  her  big  coachman  fatten 
himself  on  purloined  oats  and  beans,  and  Thorley's  food  for  cattle  ? 
Of  the  rinsings  of  tliose  wretched  bottles  the  butler  will  have  to 
give  a  reckoning  in  the  morning.  Unless  you  are  of  the  very  great 
monde,  Twysden  and  his  wife  think  themselves  better  than  you 
are,  and  seriously  patronise  you.  They  consider  it  is  a  privilege  to 
be  invited  to  those  horrible  meals  to  which  they  gravely  ask  the 
greatest  folks  in  the  country.  I  actually  met  Winton  there— the 
famous  Winton — the  best  dinner-giver  in  the  world  (ah,  what  a 
position  for  man  !).  I  watched  him,  and  marked  the  sort  of  wonder 
which  came  over  him  as  he  tasted  and  sent  away  dish  after  dish, 
glass  after  glass.  "  Try  that  Chateau  Margaux,  Winton  ! "  calls 
out  the  host.  "  It  is  some  that  Bottleby  and  I  imported." 
Imported  !  I  see  Winton's  face  as  he  tastes  tlie  wine,  and  puts  it 
down.  He  does  not  like  to  talk  about  that  dinner.  He  has  lost  a 
day.  Twysden  will  continue  to  ask  him  every  year  ;  will  continue 
to  expect  to  be  asked  in  return,  with  Mrs.  Twysden  and  one  of  liis 
daughters ;  and  will  ex])ress  his  surprise  loudly  at  the  club,  saying, 
"Hang  Winton!  Deuce  take  the  fellow!  He  has  sent  me  no 
game  this  year  !  "  When  foreign  dukes  and  princes  arrive,  Twysden 
straightway  collars  them,  and  invites  them  to  his  house.  And 
sometimes  they  go  once — and  then  ask,  "  Qui  done  est  ce  Monsieur 
Tvisden,  qui  est  si  drole "? "  And  he  elbows  his  way  up  to  them  at 
the  Minister's  assemblies,  and  frankly  gives  them  his  hand.  And 
calm  Mrs.  Twysden  wriggles,  and  wt>rks,  and  slides,  and  pushes, 
and  tramjtles  if  need  be,  her  girls  following  behind  her,  until  she 
too  has  come  up  under  the  eyes  of  the  great  man,  and  bestowed  on 
him  a  smile  and  a  curtsey.  Twysden  grasps  jirosperity  cordially 
by  the  hand.  He  says  to  success,  "  Bravo  !  "  On  the  contrary,  I 
never  saw  a  man  more  resolute  in  not  knowing  unfortunate  peojile, 
or  more  daringly  forgetful  of  those  whom  he  does  not  care  to 
remember.  If  this  Levite  met  a  wayfarer,  going  down  from  Jeru- 
salem, who  had  fallen  amoTig  thieves,  do  you  think  he  would  stop 
to  rescue  the  fallen  man?  He  would  neither  give  wine,  nor  oil, 
nor  money.  He  would  pass  on  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  own 
virtue,  and  leave  the  other  to  go,  as  best  lie  might,  to  Jericho. 

What  is  this  ?  Am  I  angry  because  Twysden  has  left  off  asking 
me  to  his  vinegar  and  chopped  hay?  No.  I  think  not.  Am  I 
hurt  because  Mrs.  Twysden  sometimes  patronises  my  wife,  and 
sometimes  cuts  her?     Perhajjs.     Only  woincii  tlioroughly  know  the 


128  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHIUP 

insolence  of  women  towards  one  another  in  the  world.  Tliat  is  a 
very  stale  remark.  They  receive  and  deliver  stabs,  smiling  politely. 
Tom  Sayers  could  not  take  punishment  more  gaily  than  they  do. 
If  you  could  but  see  under  the  skin,  you  would  find  their  little 
hearts  scarred  all  over  with  little  lancet  digs.  I  protest  I  have 
seen  my  own  wife  enduring  the  impertinence  of  this  woman,  with  a 
face  as  calm  and  placid  as  she  wears  wlien  old  Twysden  himself  is 
talking  to  her,  and  pouring  out  one  of  his  maddening  long  stories. 
Oh,  no  !  I  am  not  angry  at  all.  I  can  see  that  by  the  way  in 
which  I  am  writing  of  tliese  folk.  By  the  way,  whilst  I  am  giving 
this  candid  opinion  of  the  Twysdens,  do  I  sometimes  pause  to  con- 
sider what  they  think  of  me  ?  What  do  I  care  ?  Think  what  you 
like.  Meanwhile  we  bow  to  one  another  at  parties.  We  smile  at 
each  other  in  a  sickly  way.  And  as  for  the  dinners  in  Beaunash 
Street,  I  hope  those  who  eat  them  enjoy  their  food. 

Twysden  is  one  of  the  chiefs  now  of  the  Powder  and  Pomatum 
Office  (the  Pigtail  branch  was  finally  abolished  in  1833,  after  the 
Reform  Bill,  with  a  compensation  to  the  retiring  under-secretary), 
and  his  son  is  a  clerk  in  the  same  office.  When  they  came  out,  the 
daughters  were  very  pretty — even  my  wife  allows  that.  One  of 
them  used  to  ride  in  the  Park  with  her  father  or  brother  daily ; 
and,  knowing  what  his  salary  and  wife's  fortune  were,  and  what  the 
rent  of  his  house  in  Beaunash  Street,  everybody  wondered  how  the 
Twysdens  could  make  both  ends  meet.  They  had  horses,  carriages, 
and  a  great  house  fit  for  at  least  five  thousand  a  year ;  they  had 
not  half  as  much,  as  everybody  knew ;  and  it  was  supposed  that 
old  Ringwood  must  make  his  niece  an  allowance.  She  certainly 
worked  hard  to  get  it.  I  spoke  of  stabs  anon,  and  poor  little 
breasts  and  sides  scarred  all  over.  No  nuns,  no  monks,  no  fakeers 
take  whippings  more  kindly  than  some  devotees  of  the  world ;  and, 
as  the  punishment  is  one  for  edification,  let  us  hope  the  world  lays 
smartly  on  to  back  and  shoulders,  and  uses  the  thong  well. 

When  old  Ringwood,  at  the  close  of  his  lifetime,  used  to  come 
to  visit  his  dear  niece  and  her  husband  and  children,  he  always 
brought  a  cat-o'-nine-tails  in  his  pocket,  and  administered  it  to  the 
whole  household.  He  grinned  at  the  poverty,  the  pretence,  the 
meanness  of  the  people,  as  they  knelt  before  him  aud  did  him 
homage.  The  father  and  mother  trembling  brought  the  girls  up  for 
punishment,  and,  piteously  smiling,  received  their  own  boxes  on  the 
ear  in  presence  of  their  children.  "  Ah  !  "  the  little  French  governess 
used  to  say,  grinding  her  white  teeth,  "  I  like  milor  to  come.  All 
day  you  vip  me.  When  milor  come,  he  vip  you,  and  you  kneel 
down  and  kiss  de  rod." 

They  certainly  knelt  and  took  their  whipping  with  the  most 


MR.    KROli    KKtiUESTS    THE    HONOIU    OK    PRINCE    OX  S    COMPANY    AT    DINNER. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      129 

exemplary  fortitude.  Sometimes  the  lash  fell  on  papa's  back, 
sometimes  on  mamma's  :  now  it  stung  Agnes,  and  now  it  lighted 
on  Blanche's  pretty  shoulders.  But  I  think  it  was  on  the  heir  of 
the  house,  young  Ringwood  Twysden,  that  my  Lord  loved  best  to 
operate.  Ring's  vanity  was  very  thin-skinned,  his  selfishness  easily 
wounded,  and  his  contortions  under  punishment  amused  the  old 
tormentor. 

As  my  Lord's  brougham  drives  up — the  modest  little  brown 
brougham,  with  the  n()l>le  horse,  the  lord  chancellor  of  a  coachman, 
and  the  ineffable  footman — the  ladies,  who  know  the  whirr  of  the 
wheels,  and  may  be  quarrelling  in  the  drawing-room,  call  a  truce 
to  the  fight,  and  smooth  down  their  rufiled  tempers  and  raiment. 
Mamma  is  writing  at  her  table,  in  that  beautiful  clear  hand  which 
we  all  admire  ;  Blanche  is  at  her  book ;  Agnes  is  rising  from  the 
])iano,  quite  naturally.  A  quarrel  between  those  gentle,  smiling, 
delicate  creatures  !  Impossible  !  About  your  most  common  piece 
of  hypocrisy  how  men  will  blush  and  bungle :  how  easily,  how 
gracefully,  how  consummately,  women  will  perform  it ! 

"Well,"  growls  my  Lord,  "you  are  all  in  such  pretty  attitudes, 
I  make  no  doubt  you  have  been  sparring.  I  suspect,  Maria,  the 
men  nmst  know  what  devilish  bad  tempers  the  girls  have  got. 
Who  can  have  seen  you  fighting'?  You're  quiet  enough  here,  you 
little  monkeys.  I  tell  you  what  it  is.  Ladies'  maids  get  about 
and  talk  to  the  valets  in  the  housekeeper's  room,  and  the  men  tell 
their  masters.  Upon  my  word  I  believe  it  was  that  business  last 
year  at  Whipham  which  frightened  Greenwood  oft".  Famous  match. 
Good  house  in  town  and  country.  No  mother  alive.  Agnes  might 
have  had  it  her  own  way,  but  for  that' " 

"  We  are  not  all  angels  in  our  family,  uncle  !  "  cries  Miss  Agnes, 
reddening. 

"And  your  mother  is  too  sharp.  The  men  are  afraid  of  you, 
Maria.  I've  heard  several  young  men  say  so.  At  White's  they 
talk  about  it  (piite  freely.  Pity  for  the  girls.  Great  jnty.  Fellows 
come  and  tell  me.  Jack  Hall,  and  fellows  who  go  about  every- 
where." 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  what  Cajitain  Hall  says  about  me- — 
odious  little  wretch  !  "  cries  Blanche. 

"  There  you  go  off  in  a  tantrum  !  Hall  never  has  any  oj)inion 
of  his  own.  He  only  fetches  and  carries  what  other  people  say. 
And  he  says,  fellows  say  they  are  frightened  of  your  mother.  La 
bless  you  !  Hall  has  no  opinion.  A  fellow  might  commit  murder, 
and  Hall  would  wait  at  the  door.  Quite  a  discreet  man.  But  I 
told  him  to  ask  about  you.  And  that's  what  I  hear.  And  he  says 
that  Agnes  is  making  eyes  at  the  Doctor's  boy." 

11  I 


130  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  It's  a  shame,"  cries  Agnes,  slie<lding  tears  under  her 
martyrdom. 

"  Older  than  he  is  ;  but  that's  no  obstacle.  Good-looking  boy, 
I  suppose  you  don't  object  to  that  1  Has  his  poor  mother's  money, 
and  his  father's  :  must  be  well  to  do.  A  vulgar  fellow,  but  a  clever 
fellow,  and  a  determined  fellow,  the  Doctor — and  a  fellow  who,  I 
suspect,  is  capable  of  anything.  Shouldn't  wonder  at  that  fellow 
marrying  some  rich  dowager.  Those  doctors  get  an  immense  in- 
fluence over  women ;  and  unless  I'm  mistaken  in  my  man,  Maria, 
your  poor  sister  got  hold  of  a " 

"  Uncle ! "  cries  Mrs.  Twysden,  pointing  to  her  daughters, 
"before  these -" 

"  Before  those  innocent  lambs  !  Hem  !  Well,  I  think  Firmin 
is  of  the  wolf  sort  : "  and  the  old  noble  laughed,  and  showed  his 
own  fierce  fixngs  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  grieve  to  say,  my  Lord,  I  agree  with  you,"  remarks  Mr. 
Twysden.  "  I  don't  think  Firmin  a  man  of  high  principle.  A 
clever  man  1  Yes.  An  accomplished  man  1  Yes.  A  good 
physician  1  Yes.  A  prosperous  man  ?  Yes.  But  what's  a  man 
without  principle  1 " 

"You  ought  to  have  been  a  parson,  Twysden." 

"  Others  have  said  so,  my  Lord.  My  poor  mother  often 
regretted  that  I  didn't  choose  the  Church.  When  I  was  at 
Cambridge  I  used  to  speak  constantly  at  the  Union.  I  practised. 
I  do  not  disguise  from  you  that  my  aim  was  public  life.  I  am 
free  to  confess  I  think  the  House  of  Commons  would  have  been 
my  sphere ;  and,  liad  my  means  permitted,  should  certainly  have 
come  forward." 

Lord  Ringwood  smiled,  and  winked  to  his  niece — 

"  He  means,  my  dear,  that  he  would  like  to  wag  his  jaws  at 
my  expense,  and  that  I  should  put  him  in  for  Whipham." 

"  Tliere  are,  I  think,  worse  Members  of  Parliament,"  remarked 
Mr.  Twysden. 

"  If  there  was  a  box  of  'em  like  you,  what  a  cage  it  would  be  !  " 
roared  my  Lord.  "  By  George,  I'm  sick  of  jaw.  And  I  would 
like  to  see  a  king  of  spirit  in  this  country,  who  would  shut  up  the 
talking-shops  and  gag  the  whole  chattering  crew  !  " 

"  I  am  a  partisan  of  order — but  a  lover  of  freedom,"  continues 
Twysden.      "  I  hold  tliat  the  balance  of  our  constitution " 

I  think  my  Lord  would  have  indulged  in  a  few  of  those  oaths 
with  which  his  old-fashioned  conversation  was  liberally  garnished ; 
but  the  servant,  entering  at  this  moment,  annoimces  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin  ;  and  ever  so  fiiint  a  blush  flutters  up  in  Agnes's  cheek,  who 
feels  that  the  old  Lord's  eye  is  upon  her. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      131 

"  So,  sir,  I  saw  you  at  the  Opera  last  night,"  says  Lord 
Ringwood. 

"  I  saw  you,  too,"  says  downright  Phil. 

The  women  looked  terrifted,  and  Twysden  scared.  The 
Twysdens  had  Lord  Ringwood's  box  sometimes.  But  there  were 
boxes  in  which  the  old  man  sat,  and  in  which  they  never  could 
see  him. 

"  Why  don't  you  look  at  the  stage,  sir,  when  you  go  to  the 
Opera,  and  not  at  me?  When  you  go  to  church  you  ought  to  look 
at  the  parson,  oughtn't  you  1 "  growled  the  old  man.  "  I'm  about 
as  good  to  look  at  as  the  fellow  who  dances  first  in  the  ballet — and 
very  nearly  as  old.  But  if  I  were  you,  I  should  think  looking  at 
the  Ellsler  better  fun." 

And  now  you  may  fancy  of  what  old  old  times  we  are  writing 
— times  in  which  those  horrible  old  male  dancers  yet  existed — 
iiideous  old  creatures,  with  low  dresses  and  short  sleeves,  and 
wreaths  of  flowers,  or  hats  and  feathers  round  their  absurd  old  wigs 
— who  skipped  at  the  head  of  the  ballet.  Let  us  be  thankful  that 
those  old  apes  have  almost  vanished  oft'  the  stage,  and  left  it  in 
possession  of  the  beauteous  bounders  of  the  other  sex.  Ah,  my 
dear  young  friends,  time  will  be  when  these  too  will  cease  to  appear 
more  than  mortally  beautiful !  To  Philip,  at  his  age,  they  yet 
looked  as  lovely  as  houris.  At  this  time  the  simple  young  fellow, 
surveying  the  ballet  from  his  stall  at  the  Opera,  mistook  carmine 
for  blushes,  i)carl-powder  for  native  snows,  and  cotton-wool  for 
natural  symmetry ;  and  I  daresay  when  he  went  into  the  world 
was  not  more  clear-sighted  about  its  rouged  innocence,  its  padded 
pretensions,  and  its  painted  candour. 

Old  Lord  Ringwood  had  a  humorous  pleasure  in  petting  and 
coaxing  Philip  Firmin  before  Philip's  relatives  of  Beaunash  Street. 
Even  the  girls  felt  a  little  plaintive  envy  at  the  partiality  which 
Uncle  Ringwood  exhibited  for  Phil ;  but  the  elder  Twysdens 
and  Ringwood  Twysden,  their  son,  writhed  with  agony  at  the 
preference  which  the  old  man  sometimes  showed  for  the  Doctor's 
boy.  Phil  was  much  taller,  much  handsomer,  nuich  stronger, 
much  better  tempered,  and  nuich  richer,  than  young  Twysden. 
He  would  be  the  sole  inheritor  of  his  father's  fortune,  and  had 
his  mother's  thirty  thousand  ])ounds.  Even  when  they  told 
him  his  father  would  marry  again,  Phil  laughed,  and  did  not 
seem  to  care — "  I  wish  him  joy  of  his  new  wife,"  was  all  he  could 
be  got  to  say :  "  when  he  gets  one,  I  suppose  I  shall  go  into 
chaudxTs.  Old  Parr  Street  is  not  as  gay  as  Pall  Mall."  I  am 
not  angry  Avitli  Mrs.  Twysden  for  having  a  little  jealousy  of  her 
nephew.     Her  boy  and  girls  were  the  fruit  of  a  dutiful  marriage ; 


132  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  Phil  was  the  sou  of  a  disobedient  child.  Her  children  were 
always  on  tlieir  best  behaviour  before  their  great  uucle ;  and  Phil 
cared  for  liim  uo  more  than  for  any  otlier  man ; — and  he  liked  Phil 
the  best.  Her  boy  was  as  liumble  and  eager  to  please,  as  any  of 
his  Lordship's  lumiblest  henchmen ;  and  Lord  Riugwood  snapped 
at  him,  browbeat  him,  and  trampled  on  the  poor  darling's  tenderest 
feelings,  and  treated  him  scarcely  better  than  a  lacquey.  As 
for  poor  Mr.  Twysden,  my  Lord  not  only  yawned  unreservedly  in 
his  face — that  could  not  be  helped  ;  poor  Talbot's  talk  sent  many 
of  his  acquaintance  asleep — but  laughed  at  him,  interrupted  him, 
and  told  him  to  hold  his  tongue.  On  this  day,  as  the  family  sat 
together  at  the  pleasant  hour — the  before-dinner  hour — the  fireside 
and  tea-table  hour — Lord  Ringwood  said  to  Phil — 

"  Dine  with  me  to-day,  sir  1 " 

"  Why  does  he  not  ask  me,  with  my  powers  of  conversation  ?  " 
thought  old  Twysden  to  himself 

"  Hang  him,  he  always  asks  that  beggar,"  writhed  young 
Twysden  in  his  corner. 

"  Very  sorry,  sir,  can't  come.  Have  asked  some  fellows  to 
dine  at  the  '  Blue  Posts,' "  says  Phil. 

"Confound  you,  sir,  why  don't  you  put  'em  off?"  cries  the  old 
lord.     "  Yoti'd  put  'em  ofi",  Twysden,  wouldn't  you?" 

"  Oh,  sir  !  "  the  heart  of  father  and  son  both  beat. 

"  You  know  you  would ;  and  you  quarrel  with  this  boy  for  not 
throwing  his  friends  over.  Good-night,  Firmin,  since  you  won't 
come." 

And  with  this  my  Lord  was  gone. 

The  two  gentlemen  of  the  house  glumly  looked  from  the 
window,  and  saw  my  Lord's  brougham  drive  swiftly  away  in 
the  rain. 

"  I  hate  your  dining  at  those  horrid  taverns,"  whispered  a 
young  lady  to  Philip. 

"  It  is  better  fun  than  dining  at  home,"  Philip  remarks. 

"  You  smoke  and  drink  too  much.  You  come  home  late,  and 
you  don't  live  in  a  i)roper  monde,  sir  !  "  continues  the  young  lady. 

"  What  wovdd  you  have  me  do  ? " 

"  Oh,  nothing.  You  must  dine  with  those  horrible  men,"  cries 
Agnes;  "else  you  might  have  gone  to  Lady  Pendleton's  to-night." 

"I  can  throw  over  the  men  easily  enough,  if  you  wish," 
answered  the  young  man. 

"  I  ?  I  have  no  wish  of  the  sort.  Have  you  not  already  re- 
fused Uncle  Ringwood  ? " 

"  You  are  not  Lord  Ringwood,"  says  Phil,  with  a  tremor  in  his 
voice.      "  I  don't  know  there  is  much  I  would  refuse  you." 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    AVORLD      133 

"  You  silly  boy  !  What  do  I  ever  ask  you  to  do  that  you 
ought  to  refuse  1  I  want  you  to  live  in  our  world,  and  not  with 
your  dreadful  wild  Oxford  and  Temple  bachelors.  I  don't  want 
you  to  smoke.  I  want  you  to  go  into  the  world  of  m  Inch  you  have 
the  entree — and  you  refuse  your  uncle  on  account  of  some  horrid 
engagement  at  a  tavern  !  " 

"Shall  I  stop  herel  Aunt,  will  you  give  me  some  dinner 
here  1 "  asks  the  young  man. 

"We  have  dined:  my  husband  and  son  dine  out,"  said  gentle 
Mrs.  Twysden. 

There  was  cold  mutton  and  tea  for  the  ladies;  and  Mrs.  Twysden 
did  not  like  to  seat  her  nephew,  who  was  accustomed  to  good  fare 
and  high  living,  to  that  meagre  meal. 

"You  see  I  must  console  myself  at  the  tavern,"  Phili])  said. 
"  We  shall  have  a  pleasant  party  there." 

"And  pray  wdio  makes  if? "  asks  the  lady. 

"  There  is  Ridley  the  painter." 

"  My  dear  Philip !     Do  you   know  that  his  father  was  actu- 

ally " 

"In  the  service  of  Lord  Todmorden  ?  He  often  tells  us  so. 
He  is  a  queer  character,  the  old  man." 

"  Mr.  Ridley  is  a  man  of  genius,  certainly.  His  pictures  are 
delicious,  and  he  goes  everywhere — but — but  you  provoke  me, 
Philip,  by  your  carelessness ;  indeed  you  do.  Why  should  you  be 
dining  with  the  sons  of  footmen,  Avhen  the  first  houses  in  the 
country  might  be  ojjen  to  youl     You  pain  me,  you  foolish  boy." 

"  For  dining  in  company  of  a  man  of  genius  ?  Come,  Agues  !  " 
And  the  young  man's  brow  grew  dark.  "  Besides,"  he  added,  Avith 
a  tone  of  sarcasm  in  his  voice,  which  Miss  Agnes  did  not  like  at  all 
—  "besides,  my  dear,  you  know  he  dines  at  Lord  Pendleton's." 

"What  is  that  you  are  talking  of  Lady  Peiulleton,  children  1" 
asked  watchful  mamma  from  her  corner. 

"  Ridley  dines  there.  He  is  going  to  dine  with  me  at  a  tavern 
to-day.  And  Lord  Haldcn  is  coming— and  Mr.  Winton  is  coming 
— having  heard  of  the  famous  beefsteaks." 

"  Winton  !  Lord  Hahlen  !  Beefsteaks  !  Where  1  By  George  ! 
I  \\;\yo  a  mind  to  go,  too  !  Where  do  you  fellows  dine  1  an  cabaret  ? 
Hang  me,  I'll  be  one,"  shrieked  little  Twysden,  to  the  terror  of 
Pliilip,  who  knew  his  micle's  awful  powers  of  conversation.  But 
Twysden  rememliereil  himself  in  good  time,  and  to  the  intense 
relief  of  young  Firmin.  "  Hang  me,  I  forgot !  Your  aunt  and  I 
dine  with  the  Bladeses.  Stupid  old  fellow,  the  admiral,  and  bad 
wine — which  is  unpardonable  ;  but  we  must  go — oti  ii'a  que  sa 
jmrole,  hey]     Tell  Winton  tliat  I  had  meditated  joining  him,  and 


134  THE    ADVENTURES    OF  PHILIP 

that  I  have  still  some  of  that  Chateau  Margaux  he  liked.  Halden's 
father  I  know  well.  Tell  him  so.  Bring  him  here.  Maria,  send 
a  Thursday  card  to  Lord  Halden  !  You  must  bring  him  here  to 
dinner,  Philip.  That^s  the  best  way  to  make  acquaintance,  my 
boy  ! "  And  the  little  man  swaggers  off,  waving  a  bed  candle,  as 
if  he  was  going  to  quaff  a  bumi:)er  of  sparkling  spermaceti. 

The  mention  of  such  great  personages  as  Lord  Halden  and  Mr. 
Winton  silenced  the  reproofs  of  the  pensive  Agnes. 

"  You  won't  care  for  our  quiet  fireside  whilst  you  live  with 
those  fine  people,  Philip,"  she  sighed.  There  was  no  talk  now  of 
his  throwing  himself  away  on  bad  company. 

So  Philip  did  not  dine  with  his  relatives  :  but  Talbot  Twysden 
took  good  care  to  let  Lord  Riugwood  know  how  young  Firmin  had 
offered  to  dine  with  his  aunt  that  day  after  refusing  his  Lordship. 
And  everything  to  Phil's  discredit,  and  .^very  act  of  extravagance 
or  wildness  which  the  young  man  committed,  did  Phil's  uncle,  and 
Phil's  cousin,  Ringwood  Twysden,  convey  to  the  old  nobleman. 
Had  not  these  been  the  informers.  Lord  Ringwood  would  have  been 
angry  :  for  he  exacted  obedience  and  servility  from  all  round  about 
him.  But  it  was  pleasanter  to  vex  the  Twysdens  than  to  scold  and 
browbeat  Philip,  and  so  his  Lordship  chose  to  laugh  and  be  amused 
at  Phil's  insubordination.  He  saw,  too,  other  things  of  which  he 
did  not  speak.  He  was  a  wily  old  man,  who  could  afford  to  be 
blind  upon  occasion. 

What  do  you  judge  from  the  fact  that  Philip  was  ready  to 
make  or  break  engagements  at  a  young  lady's  instigation  1  When 
you  were  twenty  years  old,  had  no  young  ladies  an  influence  over 
you  1  Were  they  not  commonly  older  than  yourself?  Did  your 
youthful  passion  lead  to  anything,  and  are  you  very  sorry  now  that 
it  did  not  %  Suppose  you  had  had  your  soul's  wish  and  married 
her,  of  what  age  would  she  be  now  ?  And  now  when  you  go  into 
the  world  and  see  her,  do  you  on  your  conscience  very  much  regret 
that  the  little  affair  came  to  an  end  %  Is  it  that  (lean,  or  fat,  or 
stumpy,  or  tall)  woman  with  all  those  children  whom  you  once 
chose  to  break  your  heart  about ;  and  do  you  still  envy  Jones  % 
Philip  was  in  love  witli  his  cousin,  no  doubt ;  but  at  the  university 
had  he  not  been  previously  in  love  with  the  Tomkinsian  Professor's 
daughter.  Miss  Budd  :  and  had  he  not  already  written  verses  to 
Miss  Flower,  his  neighbour's  daughter  in  Old  Parr  Street"?  And 
don't  young  men  always  begin  by  frilling  in  love  with  ladies  older 
than  themselves  ?  Agnes  certainly  was  Philip's  senior,  as  her  sister 
constantly  took  care  to  inform  him. 

And  Agnes  might  have  told  stories  about  Blanche,  if  she  chose 
— as  you  may  about  me,  and  I  about  you.     Not  quite  true  stories, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      135 

but  stories  with  enough  alloy  of  lies  to  make  them  serviceable  coin  ; 
stories  such  as  we  hear  daily  in  the  world ;  stories  such  as  we  read 
in  the  most  learned  and  conscientious  history-books,  which  are  told 
by  the  most  respectable  persons,  and  perfectly  authentic  until  con- 
tradicted. It  is  only  our  histories  that  can't  be  contradicted  (un- 
less, to  be  sure,  novelists  contradict  themselves,  as  sometimes  they 
will).  What  ive  say  about  people's  virtues,  failings,  characters,  you 
may  be  sure  is  all  true.  And  I  defy  any  man  to  assert  that  my 
opinion  of  the  Twysden  family  is  malicious,  or  unkind,  or  unfounded 
in  any  particular.  Agnes  wrote  verses,  and  set  her  own  and  other 
writers'  poems  to  music.  Blanche  was  scientific,  and  attended  the 
Albemarle  Street  lectures  sedulously.  They  are  both  clever  women 
as  times  go ;  well  educated  and  accomplished,  and  very  well 
mannered  when  they  choose  to  be  pleasant.  If  you  were  a  bachelor, 
say,  with  a  good  fortune,  or  a  widower  who  wanted  consolation,  or 
a  lady  giving  very  good  parties  and  belonging  to  the  monde,  you 
would  find  them  agreeable  people.  If  you  were  a  little  Treasury 
clerk,  or  a  young  barrister  with  no  practice,  or  a  lady,  old  or  young, 
not  quite  of  the  monde,  your  opinion  of  them  would  not  be  so  favour- 
able. I  have  seen  them  cut,  and  scorn,  and  avoid,  and  caress,  and 
kneel  down  and  worship  the  same  person.  When  Mrs.  Lovel  first 
gave  parties,  don't  I  remember  the  shocked  countenances  of  the 
Twysden  family  1  Were  ever  shoulders  colder  than  yours,  dear 
girls  1  Now  they  love  her ;  they  fondle  her  step-children  ;  they 
praise  her  to  her  face  and  behind  her  handsome  back  ;  they  take 
her  hand  in  public ;  they  call  her  by  her  Christian  name  ;  they  fall 
into  ecstasies  over  her  toilettes,  and  would  fetch  coals  for  her  dress- 
ing-room fire  if  she  but  gave  them  the  word.  She  is  not  changed. 
She  is  the  same  lady  who  once  was  a  governess,  and  no  colder  and 
no  warmer  since  then.  But  you  see  her  prosperity  has  brought 
virtues  into  evidence,  which  people  did  not  perceive  when  she  was 
poor.  Could  people  sec  Cinderella's  beauty  when  she  was  in  rags 
by  the  fire,  or  until  she  stepped  out  of  her  fairy  coach  in  her 
diamonds?  How  are  you  to  recognise  a  diamond  in  a  dustholc  ? 
Only  very  clever  eyes  can  do  that.  Whereas  a  lady  in  a  fairy  coach 
and  eight  naturally  creates  a  sensation ;  and  enraptured  i)rinces 
come  and  beg  to  have  the  honour  of  dancing  with  her. 

In  the  character  of  infallil)le  historian,  then,  I  declare  that  if 
Miss  Twysden  at  three-and-twenty  feels  ever  so  much  or  little  attach- 
ment for  her  cousin  who  is  not  yet  of  age,  there  is  no  reason  to  be 
angry  with  her.  A  brave,  handsome,  blundering,  downright  yoiuig 
fellow,  with  broad  shoulders,  high  sjnrits,  and  quite  fresh  blushes 
on  his  face,  with  very  good  talents  (though  he  has  been  wofully  idle, 
and  reijuested  to  absent  himself  temporarily  fmiii   liis  university), 


\S6  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  i:)ossessor  of  a  competent  fortune  and  the  heir  of  another,  may 
naturally  make  some  impression  on  a  lady's  heart  with  whom  kins- 
manship  and  circumstance  bring  him  into  daily  communion.  When 
had  any  sound  so  hearty  as  Phil's  laugh  been  heard  in  Beaunash 
Street?  His  jolly  frankness  touched  his  aunt,  a  clever  woman. 
She  would  smile  and  say,  "  My  dear  Philip,  it  is  not  only  what  you 
say,  but  what  you  are  going  to  say  next,  which  keeps  me  in  such 
a  perpetual  tremor."  There  may  have  been  a  time  once  when  she 
was  frank  and  cordial  herself :  ever  so  long  ago,  when  she  and  her 
sister  were  two  blooming  girls,  lovingly  clinging  together,  and  just 
stepping  forth  into  the  world.  But  if  you  succeed  in  keeping  a  fine 
house  on  a  small  income ;  in  showing  a  cheerful  face  to  the  world 
though  oppressed  witli  ever  so  much  care  ;  in  bearing  with  dutiful 
reverence  an  intolerable  old  bore  of  a  husband  (and  I  vow  it  is  this 
quality  in  Mrs.  Twysden  for  which  I  most  admire  her) ;  in  sub- 
mitting to  defeats  patiently  ;  to  humiliations  with  smiles,  so  as  to 
hold  your  own  in  your  darling  nionde ;  you  may  succeed,  but  you 
must  give  up  being  frank  and  cordial.  The  marriage  of  her  sister 
to  the  Doctor  gave  Maria  Ringwood  a  great  panic,  for  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  furious  when  the  news  came.  Then,  perhaps,  she  sacri- 
ficed a  little  private  passion  of  her  own  :  then  she  set  her  cap  at  a 
noble  young  neighbour  of  my  Lord's  who  jilted  her ;  then  she  took 
up  with  Talbot  Twysden,  Esquire,  of  the  Powder  and  Pomatum 
Office,  and  made  a  very  flxithful  wife  to  him,  and  was  a  very  care- 
ful mother  to  his  children.  But  as  for  frankness  and  cordiality, 
my  good  friend,  accept  from  a  lady  what  she  can  give  you — good 
manners,  pleasant  talk,  and  decent  attention.  If  you  go  to  her 
breakflist-table,  don't  ask  for  a  roc's  egg,  but  eat  that  moderately 
fresh  hen's  egg  which  John  brings  you.  When  Mrs.  Twysden  is 
in  her  open  carriage  in  tlie  Park,  how  prosperous,  handsome,  and 
jolly  she  looks  — the  girls  how  smiling  and  young  (that  is,  you  know, 
considering  all  things) ;  the  horses  look  fat,  the  coachman  and  foot- 
man wealthy  and  sleek ;  they  exchange  bows  with  the  tenants  of 
other  carriages — well-known  aristocrats.  Jones  and  Brown,  leaning 
over  the  railings,  and  seeing  the  Twysden  equipage  pass,  have  not 
the  slightest  doubt  that  it  contains  people  of  the  highest  wealth  and 
fashion.  "I  say,  Jones  my  boy,  what  noble  family  has  the  motto, 
Wei  done  Tunjs  done  ?  and  what  clipping  girls  there  were  in  that 
barouche  !  "  B.  remarks  to  J.  ;  "  and  what  a  handsome  young  swell 
that  is  riding  the  bay  mare,  and  leaning  over  and  talking  to  the 
yellow-haired  girl !  "  And  it  is  evident  to  one  of  those  gentlemen, 
at  least,  that  he  has  been  looking  at  your  regular  first-rate  tiptop 
people. 

As  for  Phil  Firmin  on  his  bay  mare,  with  his  geranium  in  his 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    AVORLD     137 

button-hole,  there  is  no  doubt  that  Pliilippus  looks  as  handsome, 
and  as  rich,  and  as  brave  as  any  lord.  And  I  think  Brown  must 
have  felt  a  little  pang  when  his  friend  told  him,  "  That  a  lord  ! 
Bless  you,  it's  only  a  swell  doctor's  son."  But  while  J.  and  B. 
fimcy  all  the  little  party  very  happy,  they  do  not  hear  Phil  whisiier 
to  his  cousin,  "I  hope  you  liked  ijour  2m,rtne7'  last  ni.nht?"  and 
they  do  not  see  how  anxious  Mrs.  Twysden  is  under  her  smiles, 
how  she  perceives  Colonel  Shafto's  cab  coming  up  (the  dancer  in 
question),  and  how  she  would  rather  have  Phil  anywhere  than  by 
that  particular  wheel  of  her  carriage  ;  how  Lady  Braglands  has 
just  passed  them  by  without  noticing  them — Lady  Braglands,  who 
has  a  ball,  and  is  determined  not  to  ask  that  woman  and  her  two 
endless  girls ;  and  how,  though  Lady  Braglands  won't  see  Mrs. 
Twysden  in  her  great  staring  equipage,  and  the  three  faces  which 
have  been  beaming  smiles  at  her,  she  instantly  perceives  Lady 
Lovel,  who  is  passing  ensconced  in  her  little  brougham,  and  kisses 
her  fingers  twenty  times  over.  How  should  poor  J.  and  B.,  who 
are  not,  vous  comprejiez,  du  monde,  understand  these  mysteries  ? 

"That's  young  Firmin,  is  it,  that  handsome  young  fellow'?" 
says  Brown  to  Jones. 

"Doctor  married  the  Earl  of  Ringwood's  niece — ran  away  with 
her,  you  know." 

"  Good  practiced' 

"  Capital.  First-rate.  All  the  tiptop  })eople.  Great  ladies' 
doctor.  Can't  do  without  him.  ]\lakes  a  fortune,  besides  what  he 
had  with  his  wife." 

"  We've  seen  his  name — the  old  man's — on  some  very  queer 
paper,"  says  B.  with  a  wink  to  J.  By  which  I  conclude  they  are 
City  gentlemen.  And  they  look  very  hard  at  friend  Philip,  as  he 
comes  to  talk  and  shake  hands  with  some  pedestrians  who  are 
gazing  over  the  railings  at  the  busy  and  pleasant  Park  scene. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  NOBLE  KINSMAN 

HAVING  had  occasion  to  mention  a  noble  Earl  once  or  twice, 
I  am  sure  no  polite  reader  will  consent  that  his  Lordship 
should  push  through  this  history  along  with  the  crowd  of 
commoner  characters,  and  without  a  special  word  regarding  himself. 
If  you  are  in  the  least  familiar  with  Burke  or  Debrett,  you  know 
that  the  ancient  family  of  Ringwood  has  long  been  famous  for  its 
great  possessions,  and  its  loyalty  to  the  British  Crown. 

In  the  troubles  which  unhappily  agitated  this  kingdom  after  the 
deposition  of  tlie  late  reigning  house,  the  Ringwoods  were  implicated 
witli  many  other  flimilies ;  but  on  the  accession  of  his  Majesty 
George  III.  these  differences  happily  ended,  nor  had  the  monarch 
any  subject  more  loyal  and  devoted  than  Sir  John  Ringwood, 
Baronet,  of  Wingate  and  Whipliam  Market.  Sir  John's  influence 
sent  three  Members  to  Parliament ;  and  during  the  dangerous  and 
vexatious  period  of  the  American  War,  this  influence  was  exerted  so 
cordially  and  consistently  in  the  cause  of  order  and  the  Crown,  that 
his  Majesty  thought  fit  to  advance  Sir  John  to  the  dignity  of  Baron 
Ringwood.  Sir  John's  brother.  Sir  Francis  Ringwood,  of  Apple- 
shaw,  who  followed  tlie  profession  of  the  law,  also  was  promoted  to 
be  a  Baron  of  his  Majesty's  Court  of  Exchequer.  The  first  Baron, 
dying  a.d.  1786,  was  succeeded  by  the  elder  of  his  two  sons — John, 
second  Baron  and  first  Earl  of  Ringwood.  His  Lordship's  brother, 
tlie  Honourable  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  died  gloriously,  at  the 
head  of  his  regiment  and  in  the  defence  of  his  country,  in  the 
battle  of  Busaco,  1810,  leaving  two  daughters,  Louisa  and  Maria, 
who  henceforth  lived  with  the  Earl  their  uncle. 

The  Earl  of  Ringwood  had  but  one  son,  Charles  Viscount 
Cinqbars,  who,  unhappily,  died  of  a  decline,  in  his  twenty-second 
year.  And  thus  the  descendants  of  Sir  Francis  Ringwood  became 
heirs  to  the  Earl's  great  estates  of  Wingate  and  Whipham  Market, 
though  not  of  the  peerages  which  had  been  conferred  on  the  Earl 
and  his  father. 

Lord  Ringwood  had,  living  with  him,  two  nieces,  daughters  of 
his  late  brother.  Colonel  Philip  Ringwood,  who  fell  in  the  Peninsular 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     139 

War.  Of  these  ladies,  the  younger,  Louisa,  was  his  Lordship's 
favourite  ;  and  though  botii  tlie  ladies  had  considerable  fortunes  of 
their  own,  it  was  supposed  their  uncle  would  further  provide  for 
them,  especially  as  he  was  on  no  very  good  terms  with  his  cousin, 
Sir  John  of  the  Shaw,  who  took  the  Whig  side  in  ])olitics,  whilst 
his  Lordship  was  a  chief  of  the  Tory  party. 

Of  these  two  nieces,  the  elder,  Maria,  never  any  great  favourite 
with  her  uncle,  married,  1824,  Talbot  Twysden,  Escjuire,  a  Com- 
missioner of  Powder  and  Pomatum  Tax  ;  but  the  younger,  Louisa, 
incurred  my  Lord's  most  serious  anger  by  eloping  with  George 
Brand  Firmin,  Esquire,  M.D.,  a  young  gentleman  of  Cambridge 
University,  who  had  been  with  Lord  Cinqbars  when  he  died  at 
Naples,  and  had  brought  home  his  body  to  Wingate  Castle. 

The  quarrel  with  the  younger  niece,  and  the  indifference  with 
which  he  generally  regarded  the  elder  (whom  his  Lordship  was  in 
the  habit  of  calling  an  old  schemer),  occasioned  at  first  a  little 
raj^jirochement  between  Lord  Ringwood  and  his  heir,  Sir  John  of 
Appleshaw  ;  but  both  gentlemen  were  very  firm,  not  to  say  obsti- 
nate, in  their  natures.  They  had  a  quarrel  with  respect  to  the 
cutting  off  of  a  small  entailed  property,  of  which  the  Earl  wished  to 
dis])ose ;  and  they  parted  with  much  rancour  and  bad  language  on 
his  Lordship's  part,  who  was  an  especially  free-spoken  nobleman, 
and  apt  to  call  a  spade  a  spade,  as  the  saying  is. 

After  this  difference,  and  to  spite  his  heir,  it  was  supposed  that 
the  Earl  of  Ringwood  would  marry.  He  was  little  more  than 
seventy  years  of  age,  and  had  once  been  of  a  very  robust  constitu- 
tion. And  though  his  temper  was  violent  and  his  person  not  at  nil 
agreeable  (for  even  in  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence's  picture  his  counten- 
ance is  very  ill-fovoured),  tlieie  is  little  doubt  he  could  have  found 
a  wife  for  the  asking  among  the  young  beauties  of  his  own  county, 
or  the  fairest  of  Maytair. 

But  he  was  a  cynical  nobleman,  and  perhaps  morbidly  conscious 
of  his  own  ungiiinly  appearance.  "  Of  course  I  can  buy  a  wife  " 
(his  Lordshij)  would  say).  "Do  you  suppose  people  won't  sell 
their  daughters  to  a  man  of  my  rank  and  means'?  Now  look  at 
me,  my  good  sir,  and  say  whether  any  woman  alive  could  fall  in 
love  with  me  %  I  have  been  married,  and  once  was  enough.  I  hate 
ugly  women,  and  your  virtuous  women,  who  tremble  and  cry  in 
I)rivate,  and  preach  at  a  man,  bore  me.  Sir  John  Ringwood  of 
Ap})leshaw  is  an  ass,  and  I  hate  him  ;  but  I  don't  hate  him  enough 
to  make  myself  miserable  for  the  rest  of  my  days,  in  order  to  spite 
him.  When  T  drojt,  I  drop.  Do  you  suppose  I  care  wliat  comes 
after  me?"  And  with  much  sardonical  humour  this  old  lord  used 
to  play  off  one  good  dowager  after  anotlier  who  would  bring  her 


140  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

girl  in  his  way.  He  would  send  pearls  to  Emily,  diamonds  to 
Fanny,  opera-boxes  to  lively  Kate,  books  of  devotion  to  pious 
Selinda,  and,  at  the  season's  end,  drive  back  to  his  lonely  great 
castle  in  the  West.  They  were  all  the  same,  such  was  his 
Lordship's  opinion.  I  fear,  a  wicked  and  corrupt  old  gentleman, 
my  dears.  But  ah,  would  not  a  woman  submit  to  some  sacrifices 
to  reclaim  that  unhappy  man  ?  to  lead  that  gifted  but  lost  being 
into  the  ways  of  right?  to  convert  to  a  belief  in  woman's  ])uiity 
that  erring  soul  1  They  tried  him  with  High  Cliurcli  altar-clotlis 
for  his  chapel  at  Wingate  ;  they  tried  him  with  Low  Church  tracts  ; 
they  danced  before  him ;  they  jumped  fences  on  horseback ;  they 
wore  bandeaux  or  ringlets,  according  as  his  taste  dictated ;  they 
were  always  at  home  when  he  called,  and  poor  you  and  I  were 
gruffly  told  they  were  engaged ;  they  gushed  in  gratitude  over  his 
bouquets ;  they  sang  for  him,  and  their  mothers,  concealing  tlieir 
sobs,  murmured,  "  What  an  angel  that  Cecilia  of  mine  is  !  "  Every 
variety  of  delicious  chaff  they  flung  to  that  old  bird.  But  he  was 
uncaught  at  the  end  of  the  season  :  he  winged  his  way  back  to  his 
western  hills.  And  if  you  dared  to  say  that  Mrs.  Netley  had  tried 
to  take  him,  or  Lady  Trapboys  had  set  a  snare  for  him,  you  know 
you  were  a  wicked  gross  calumniator,  and  notorious  everywhere  for 
your  dull  and  vulgar  abuse  of  women. 

Now,  in  the  year  1830,  it  happened  that  this  great  nobleman 
was  seized  with  a  fit  of  the  gout,  which  had  very  nearly  consigned 
his  estates  to  his  kinsman  the  Baronet  of  A])pleshaw.  A  revolution 
took  place  in  a  neighbouring  State.  An  illustrious  reigning  family 
was  expelled  from  its  country,  and  projects  of  reform  (which  would 
pretty  certainly  end  in  revolution)  were  rife  in  ours.  The  events  in 
France,  and  those  pending  at  home,  so  agitated  Lord  Ringwood's 
mind,  that  he  was  attacked  by  one  of  the  severest  fits  of  gout  under 
which  he  ever  sufifered.  His  shrieks,  as  he  was  brought  out  of  his 
yacht  at  Ryde  to  a  house  taken  for  him  in  the  town,  were  dreadful ; 
his  language  to  all  persons  about  him  was  frightfully  expressive,  as 
Lady  Quamley  and  her  daughter,  who  had  sailed  with  him  several 
times,  can  vouch.  An  ill  return  that  rude  old  man  made  for  all 
their  kindness  and  attention  to  him.  They  had  danced  on  board 
his  yacht ;  they  had  dined  on  board  his  yacht ;  they  had  been  out 
sailing  with  him,  and  cheerfully  braved  the  inconveniences  of  the 
deep  in  his  company.  And  when  they  ran  to  the  side  of  his  chair 
— as  what  would  they  not  do  to  soothe  an  old  gentleman  in  illness 
and  distress  1 — when  they  ran  up  to  his  chair  as  it  was  wheeled  along 
the  pier,  he  called  mother  and  daughter  by  the  tuost  vulgar  and 
opprobrious  names,  and  roared  out  to  them  to  go  to  a  place  which 
I  certainly  shall  not  more  jjarticularly  mention. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      141 

Now  it  happened,  at  this  period,  that  Dr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin 
were  at  Ryde  witli  their  little  boy,  then  some  three  years  of  age. 
Tlie  Doctor  was  already  taking  his  place  as  one  of  the  most  fashion- 
al)le  physicians  then  in  London,  and  had  begun  to  be  celebrated 
for  the  treatment  of  this  especial  malady.  (Firmin  on  "  Gout  and 
Rheumatism  "  was,  you  remember,  dedicated  to  his  Majesty  George 
IV.)  Lord  Ringwood's  valet  bethought  him  of  calling  the  Doctor 
in,  and  mentioned  how  he  was  present  in  the  town.  Now  Lord 
Ringwood  was  a  nobleman  who  never  Avould  allow  his  angry  feelings 
to  stand  in  the  way  of  his  present  comforts  or  ease.  He  instantly 
desired  Mr.  Firmin's  attendance,  and  submitted  to  his  treatment ;  a 
part  of  which  was  a  hauteur  to  the  full  as  great  as  that  Mhich  the 
sick  man  exhibited.  Firmin's  appearance  was  so  tall  and  grand, 
that  he  looked  vastly  more  noble  than  a  great  many  noblemen. 
Six  feet,  a  high  manner,  a  polished  forehead,  a  flashing  eye,  a  snowy 
shirt-frill,  a  rolling  velvet  collar,  a  beautiful  hand  a})pearing  under  a 
velvet  cuff — all  these  advantages  he  possessed  and  used.  He  did 
not  make  the  slightest  allusion  to  bygones,  but  treated  his  patient 
with  a  perfect  courtesy  and  an  impenetrable  self-jiossession. 

This  defiant  and  darkling  politeness  did  not  always  displease 
the  old  man.  He  was  so  accustomed  to  slavish  compliance  and 
eager  obedience  from  all  people  round  about  him,  that  he  some- 
times wearied  of  their  servility,  and  relished  a  little  independence. 
Was  it  from  calculation,  or  because  he  was  a  man  of  high  spirit, 
that  Firmin  determined  to  maintain  an  independent  course  with 
his  Lordship  1  From  the  fir.st  day  of  their  meeting  he  never  de- 
parted from  it,  and  had  the  satisfaction  of  meeting  with  only  civil 
behaviour  from  his  noble  relative  and  ])atient,  who  was  notorious 
for  his  rudeness  and  brutality  to  almost  every  person  who  came  in 
his  way. 

From  hints  which  his  Lordship  gave  in  conversation,  he  showed 
the  Doctor  that  he  was  acipiainted  with  some  jjarticujars  of  the 
hitter's  early  career.  It  had  been  wild  and  stormy.  Firmin  had 
incurred  debts ;  had  quarrelled  with  his  father ;  had  left  the  univer- 
sity and  gone  abroad ;  had  lived  in  a  wild  society,  which  used  dice 
and  cards  every  night,  and  pistols  sometimes  in  the  morning ;  and 
had  shown  a  fearful  dexterity  in  the  use  of  the  Inttcr  instrument, 
which  he  employed  against  the  person  of  a  famous  Italian  adven- 
turer, who  fell  under  his  hand  at  Naples.  \\\\v\\  this  century  was 
five-and-twenty  years  yoiuiger,  the  crack  of  the  pistol-shot  might 
still  occasionally  be  lieard  in  the  suburbs  of  London  in  the  very 
early  morning  ;  and  the  dice-box  went  round  in  many  a  haunt  of 
pleasure.  The  knights  of  the  Four  Kings  travelled  from  capital  to 
capital,  and  engaged  each  other  or  made  prey  of  the  unwary.     Now, 


142  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  times  are  changed.  The  cards  are  coffined  in  their  boxes. 
Only  sous-officiers,  brawling  in  their  provincial  cafds  over  their 
dominos,  fight  duels.  "  Ah,  dear  me,"  I  heard  a  veteran  punter 
sigh  the  other  day  at  Bays's,  "  isn't  it  a  melancholy  thing  to  think, 
that  if  I  wanted  to  amuse  myself  with  a  fifty-pound  note,  I  don't 
know  the  place  in  London  where  I  could  go  and  lose  it  1 "  And  he 
fondly  recounted  the  names  of  twenty  places  where  he  could  have 
cheerfully  staked  and  lost  his  money  in  his  young  time. 

After  a  somewhat  prolonged  absence  abroad,  Mr.  Firmin  came 
back  to  this  country,  was  permitted  to  return  to  the  university,  and 
left  it  with  the  degree  of  Baclielor  of  Medicine.  We  have  told  how 
he  ran  away  with  Lord  Ringwood's  niece,  and  incurred  the  anger  of 
that  nobleman.  Beyond  abuse  and  anger  liis  Lordship  was  power- 
less. The  young  lady  was  free  to  marry  whom  she  liked,  and  her 
uncle  to  disown  or  receive  him ;  and  accordingly  she  was,  as  we 
have  seen,  disowned  by  his  Lordship,  until  he  found  it  convenient 
to  forgive  her.  What  were  Lord  Ringwood's  intentions  regarding 
his  property,  what  were  his  accumulations,  and  who  his  heirs  would 
be,  no  one  knew.  Meanwhile  of  course  there  were  those  who  felt  a 
very  great  interest  on  the  point.  Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  husband 
and  children  were  hungry  and  poor.  If  Uncle  Ringwood  had  money 
to  leave,  it  would  be  very  welcome  to  those  three  darlings,  whose 
father  had  not  a  great  income  like  Dr.  Firmin.  Philip  was  a  dear, 
good,  frank,  amiable,  wild  fellow,  and  they  all  loved  him.  But  he 
had  his  faults — that  could  not  be  concealed — and  so  poor  Phil's 
faults  were  pretty  constantly  canvassed  before  Uncle  Ringwood,  by 
dear  relatives  who  knew  them  only  too  well.  The  dear  relatives  ! 
How  kind  they  are !  I  don't  think  Phil's  aunt  abused  him  to  my 
Lord.  That  quiet  woman  calmly  and  gently  put  forward  the  claims 
of  her  own  darlings,  and  aft'ectionately  dilated  on  the  young  man's 
present  prosperity,  and  magnificent  future  prospects.  The  interest 
of  thirty  thousand  pounds  now,  and  the  inheritance  of  his  father's 
great  accumulations !  What  young  man  could  want  for  more  1 
Perhaps  he  had  too  much  already.  Perhaps  he  was  too  rich  to 
work.  The  sly  old  peer  acquiesced  in  his  niece's  statements,  and 
perfectly  understood  the  point  towards  which  they  tended.  "  A 
thousand  a  year !  What's  a  thousand  a  year  1 "  growled  the  old 
lord.  "  Not  enough  to  make  a  gentleman,  more  than  enough  to 
make  a  fellow  idle." 

"  Ah,  indeed,  it  was  but  a  small  income,"  sighed  Mrs.  Twysden. 
*'  With  a  large  house,  a  good  establishment,  and  Mr.  Twysden's 
salary  from  his  office — it  was  but  a  pittance." 

"  Pittance !  Starvation,"  growls  my  Lord,  with  his  usual 
frankness.      "Don't  I   know  what  housekeeping  costs?   and   see 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     143 

how  you  screw?     Butlers  and  footmen,  carriages  and  job-horses, 
rent  and  dinners— though  yours,  Maria,  are  not  famous." 

"  Very  bad — I  know  they  are  very  bad,"  says  the  contrite  lady. 
"  I  wish  we  could  afford  any  better." 

"  Afford  any  better  ?  Of  course  you  can't.  You  are  the 
crockery  pots,  and  you  swim  down-stream  with  the  brass  pots.  I 
saw  Twysden  the  other  day  walking  down  St.  James's  Street  with 
Rhodes — that  tall  fellow."  (Here  my  Lord  laughed,  and  showed 
many  fangs,  the  exhibition  of  which  gave  a  peculiarly  fierce  air 
to  his  Lordship  when  in  good-humour.)  "If  Twysden  walks  with 
a  big  fellow,  he  always  tries  to  keep  step  with  him.  Yoti  know 
that."  Poor  Maria  naturally  knew  her  husband's  peculiarities  ; 
but  she  did  not  say  tliat  she  had  no  need  to  be  reminded  of 
them. 

"He  was  so  blown  he  could  hardly  speak,"  continued  Uncle 
Ringwood ;  "  but  he  would  stretch  his  little  legs,  and  try  and  keej) 
up.  He  has  a  little  body,  le  cher  mari,  but  a  good  pluck.  Those 
little  fellows  often  have.  I've  seen  him  half  dead  out  shooting,  and 
j)lunging  over  the  ploughed  fields  after  fellows  with  twice  his  stride. 
Why  don't  men  sink  in  the  world,  I  want  to  know  ?  Instead  of 
a  fine  house,  and  a  parcel  of  idle  servants,  why  don't  you  have  a 
maid  and  a  leg  of  mutton,  Maria  1  You  go  half  crazy  in  trying 
to  make  both  ends  meet.  You  know  you  do.  It  keejis  you  awake 
of  nights  ;  /  know  that  very  well.  You've  got  a  liouse  fit  for 
people  witli  four  times  your  money.  I  lend  you  my  cook  and  so 
forth  ;  but  I  can't  come  and  dine  with  you  unless  I  send  the  wine 
in.  Why  don't  you  have  a  pot  of  porter,  and  a  joint,  or  some 
tripe? — tripe's  a  famous  good  thing.  The  miseries  which  people 
entail  on  themselves  in  trying  to  live  beyond  their  means  are 
perfectly  ridiculous,  by  George  !  Look  at  that  fellow  who  opened 
the  door  to  me ;  he's  as  tall  as  one  of  my  own  men.  Go  and  live 
in  a  quiet  little  street  in  Belgravia  somewhere,  and  have  a  neat 
little  maid.  Nobody  will  think  a  penny  the  worse  of  you- — and  you 
will  be  just  as  well  off  as  if  you  lived  here  with  an  extra  coujile 
of  thousand  a  year.  The  advice  I  am  giving  you  is  wortli  half 
that,  every  shilling  of  it." 

"  It  is  very  good  advice  ;  but  I  think,  sir,  I  should  prefer  the 
thousand  pounds,"  said  the  lady. 

"Of  course  you  would.  That  is  the  consecjuence  of  your  false 
position.  One  of  the  good  points  about  that  Doctor  is,  that  he 
is  as  proud  as  Lucifer,  and  so  is  his  boy.  They  are  not  always 
hungering  after  money.  They  keep  their  independence  ;  though 
he'll  have  his  own  too,  the  fellow  will.  Why,  when  I  first  called 
him  in,  I  thought,  as  he  was  a  relation,  he'd  doctor  me  for  nothing ; 


144  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

but  he  wouldn't.  He  would  have  his  fee,  by  George  !  and  wouldn't 
come  without  it.  Confounded  independent  fellow  Firmin  is.  And 
so  is  the  young  one." 

But  when  Twysden  and  his  son  (perhaps  inspirited  by  Mrs. 
Twysden)  tried  once  or  twice  to  be  independent  in  the  presence  of 
this  lion,  he  roared,  and  he  rushed  at  them,  and  he  rent  them,  so 
that  they  fled  from  him  howling.  And  this  reminds  me  of  an  old 
story  I  have  heard — quite  an  old  old  story,  such  as  kind  old  fellows 
at  clubs  love  to  remember — of  ray  lord,  when  he  was  only  Lord 
Cinqbars,  insulting  a  half-pay  lieutenant,  in  his  own  county,  who 
horsewhipped  his  lordship  in  the  most  private  and  ferocious  manner. 
It  was  said  Lord  Cinqbars  had  had  a  rencontre  with  poachers  ; 
but  it  was  my  lord  who  was  poaching  and  the  lieutenant  who  was 
defending  his  own  dovecot.  I  do  not  say  that  this  was  a  model 
nobleman ;  but  that,  when  his  own  passions  or  interests  did  not  mis- 
lead him,  he  was  a  nobleman  of  very  considerable  acuteness,  humour, 
and  good  sense ;  and  could  give  quite  good  advice  on  occasion. 
If  men  would  kneel  down  and  kiss  his  boots,  well  and  good.  There 
was  the  blacking,  and  you  were  welcome  to  embrace  toe  and  heel. 
But  those  who  would  not,  were  free  to  leave  the  operation  alone. 
The  Pope  himself  does  not  demand  the  ceremony  from  .Protestants  ; 
and  if  they  object  to  the  slipper,  no  one  thinks  of  forcing  it  into 
their  mouths.  Phil  and  his  father  probably  declined  to  tremble 
before  the  old  man,  not  because  they  knew  he  was  a  bully  who 
might  be  put  down,  but  because  they  were  men  of  spirit,  who  cared 
not  whether  a  man  was  a  bully  or  no. 

I  have  told  you  I  like  Philip  Firmin,  though  it  must  be  con- 
fessed that  the  young  fellow  had  many  faults,  and  that  his  career, 
especially  his  early  career,  was  by  no  means  exemplary.  Have 
I  ever  excused  his  conduct  to  his  father,  or  said  a  word  in  apology 
of  his  brief  and  inglorious  university  career  1  I  acknowledge  his 
shortcomings  witli  that  candour  which  my  friends  exhibit  in 
speaking  of  mine.  Who  does  not  see  a  friend's  weaknesses,  and  is 
so  blind  that  he  cannot  perceive  that  enormous  beam  in  his  neigh- 
bour's eye  1  Only  a  woman  or  two,  from  time  to  time.  And  even 
they  are  undeceived  some  day.  A  man  of  the  world,  I  write  about 
my  friends  as  mundane  fellow-creatures.  Do  you  siajjpose  there  are 
many  angels  here  1  I  say  again,  perhaps  a  woman  or  two.  But  as 
for  you  and  me,  my  good  sir,  are  there  any  signs  of  wings  sprouting 
from  oiir  shoulder-blades  ?  Be  quiet.  Don't  pursue  your  snarling 
cynical  remarks,  but  go  on  with  your  story. 

As  yoii  go  through  life,  stumbling,  and  slipping,  and  staggering 
to  your  feet  again,  ruefully  aware  of  your  own  wretched  weakness, 
and  praying,  with  a  contrite  heart,  let  us  trust,  that  you  may  not 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      145 

be  led  into  temptation,  have  you  not  often  looked  at  other  fellow- 
sinners,  and  speculated  with  an  awful  interest  on  their  career  1 
Some  there  are  on  whom,  quite  in  tlicir  early  lives,  dark  Ahriraanes 
has  seemed  to  lay  his  dread  mark  :  cliildren,  yet  corru])t,  and 
wicked  of  tongue ;  tender  of  age,  yet  cruel ;  who  should  be  truth- 
telling  and  generous  yet  (they  were  at  their  mothers'  bosoms 
yesterday),  but  are  false  and  cold  and  greedy  before  their  time. 
Infants  almost,  they  practise  the  arts  and  selfishness  of  old  men. 
Behinil  their  candid  faces  are  wiles  and  wickedness,  and  a  hideous 
precocity  of  artifice.  I  can  recall  such,  and  in  the  vista  of  far-oft' 
unforgotten  boyhood,  can  see  marching  that  sad  little  procession  of 
en/ants  2)erdus.  May  they  be  saved,  pray  Heaven  !  Then  there 
is  the  doubtful  class,  those  who  arc  still  on  trial  ;  those  who  fall 
and  rise  again  ;  those  who  are  often  worsted  in  life's  battle ;  beaten 
down,  wounded,  im})risoned ;  but  escape  and  conquer  sometimes. 
And  then  there  is  the  happy  class  about  whom  there  seeni6  no 
doubt  at  all ;  the  spotless  and  white-robed  ones,  to  whom  virtue 
is  easy ;  in  whose  pure  bosoms  faith  nestles,  and  cold  doubt  finds 
no  entrance ;  who  are  children,  and  good ;  young  men,  and  good  ; 
husbands  and  fathers,  and  yet  good.  Why  could  the  captain  of  onr 
scliool  write  his  Greek  iambics  without  an  effort,  and  without  an 
error?  Others  of  us  blistered  the  page  with  unavailing  tears  and 
blots,  and  might  toil  ever  so  and  conie  in  lag  last  at  the  bottom  of 
the  form.  Our  friend  Philip  belongs  to  the  middle  class,  in  which 
you  and  I  probably  arc,  my  dear  sir — not  yet,  I  hope,  irredeem- 
ably consigned  to  that  awful  third  class,  whereof  mention  has  been 
made. 

But,  being  homo,  and  liable  to  err,  there  is  no  doubt  Mr.  Philip 
exercised  his  privilege,  and  there  was  even  no  little  fear  at  one  time 
that  he  should  overdraw  his  a(;count.  He  went  from  school  to  the 
university,  and  there  distinguished  himself  certainly,  but  in  a  Avay 
in  which  very  few  parents  would  choose  that  their  sons  should 
excel.  That  he  should  hunt,  that  he  shovdd  give  parties,  that  he 
should  pull  a  good  oar  in  one  of  the  ])est  boats  on  the  river,  that 
he  should  sjtcak  at  the  Union — all  these  were  very  well.  But  why 
should  he  speak  sucli  awful  radicalism  and  republicanism — he  with 
noble  blood  in  his  veins,  and  the  son  of  a  parent  whose  interest  at 
least  it  was  to  keep  well  with  peoj)le  of  liigli  station  1- 

"  Why,  Peudeniiis,"  said  Dr.  Firmin  to  me  with  tears  in  his 
eyes,  and  nuich  genuine  grief  exhibited  on  his  liandsiMne  pale  face — 
"  why  should  it  be  said  that  Philip  Firmin — both  of  whose  grand- 
fathers fought  nol)ly  for  their  King — should  be  forgetting  the 
principles  of  his  family,  and — and,  I  haven't  words  to  tell  you  how 
deeply  he  disappoints  mo.     Why,  I  actually  heard  of  him  at  that 


146  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

horrible  Union  advocating  the  death  of  Charles  the  First  !  I  was 
wild  enough  myself  when  I  was  at  the  university,  but  I  was  a 
gentleman." 

"  Boys,  sir,  are  boys,"  I  urged.  "  They  will  advocate  anything 
for  an  argument ;  and  Philip  would  have  taken  the  other  side  quite 
as  readily." 

"  Lord  Axminster  and  Lord  St.  Dennis  told  me  of  it  at  the 
club.  I  can  tell  you  it  has  made  a  most  painful  impression,"  cried 
the  father.  "  That  my  son  should  be  a  Radical  and  a  Republican 
is  a  cruel  thought  for  a  father ;  and  I,  who  had  hoped  for  Lord 
Ringwood's  borough  for  him — who  had  hoped — who  had  hoped  very 
much  better  things  for  him  and  from  him.  He  is  not  a  comfort  to 
me.  You  saw  how  he  treated  me  one  night  ?  A  man  might  live  on 
different  terms,  I  think,  with  his  only  son  !  "  And  with  a  breaking 
voice,  a  pallid  cheek,  and  a  real  grief  at  his  heart,  the  unhappy 
physician  moved  away. 

How  had  the  Doctor  bred  his  son,  that  the  young  man  should 
be  thus  unruly  1  Was  the  revolt  the  boy's  fault,  or  the  father's  % 
Dr.  Firmin's  horror  seemed  to  be  because  his  noble  friends  were 
horrified  by  Phil's  Radical  doctrine.  At  that  time  of  my  life,  being 
young  and  very  green,  I  had  a  little  mischievous  pleasure  in 
infuriating  Square-toes,  and  causing  him  to  pronounce  that  I  was 
"a  dangerous  man."  Now,  I  am  ready  to  say  that  Nero  was  a 
monarch  with  many  elegant  accomplishments,  and  considerable 
natural  amiability  of  disposition.  I  praise  and  admire  success 
wherever  I  meet  it.  I  make  allowance  for  faults  and  short- 
comings, especially  in  my  superiors ;  and  feel  that,  did  we  know 
all,  we  should  judge  them  very  differently.  People  don't  believe 
me,  perhaps,  quite  so  much  as  formerly.  But  I  don't  offend  : 
I  trust  I  don't  offend.  Have  I  said  anything  painful  1  Plague 
on  my  blunders  !  I  recall  the  expression.  I  regret  it.  I  contra- 
dict it  flat. 

As  I  am  ready  to  find  excuses  for  everybody,  let  poor  Philip 
come  in  for  the  benefit  of  this  mild  amnesty ;  and  if  he  vexed  his 
father,  as  he  certainly  did,  let  us  trust — let  us  be  thankfully  sure — 
he  was  not  so  black  as  the  old  gentleman  depicted  him.  Nay,  if 
I  have  painted  the  Old  Gentleman  himself  as  rather  black,  who 
knows  but  that  this  was  an  error,  not  of  his  complexion,  but  of 
my  vision  ?  Phil  was  unruly  because  he  was  bold,  and  wild,  and 
young.  His  father  was  hurt,  naturally  hurt,  because  of  the  boy's 
extravagances  and  follies.  They  will  come  together  again,  as 
father  and  son  should.  These  little  differences  of  temper  will  be 
smoothed  and  equalised  anon.  The  boy  has  led  a  wild  life.  He 
has  been  obliged  to  leave  college,     He  has  given  his  father  hours 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      147 

of  anxiety  and  nights  of  painful  watching.  But  stay,  father, 
what  of  you  1  Have  you  shown  to  the  boy  the  practice  of  confi- 
dence, the  example  of  love  and  honour?  Did  you  accustom  him 
to  virtue,  and  teach  truth  to  the  child  at  your  knee  ?  "  Honour 
your  father  and  mother."  Amen.  May  his  days  be  long  wlio 
fulfils  the  command :  but  implied,  though  unwritten  on  the  table, 
is  there  not  the  order,  "  Honour  your  son  and  daughter  "  1  Pray 
Heaven  that  we,  whose  days  are  already  not  few  in  the  land,  may 
keep  tliis  ordinance  too. 

What  had  made  Philip  wild,  extravagant,  and  in.suliordinate  1 
Cured  of  that  illness  in  which  Ave  saw  him,  he  rose  up,  and  from 
school  wont  his  way  to  the  university,  and  there  entered  on  a  life 
such  as  wild  young  men  will  lead.  From  tliat  day  of  illness  his 
manner  towards  his  father  changed,  and  regarding  the  change  the 
elder  Firniin  seemed  afraid  to  question  his  son.  He  used  the 
house  as  if  his  own,  came  and  absented  himself  at  will,  ruled  the 
servants,  and  was  spoiled  by  them  ;  spent  the  income  which  was 
settled  on  Ids  mother  and  her  children,  and  gave  of  it  liberally  to 
poor  acquaintances.  To  the  remonstrances  of  old  friends  he  replied 
that  he  had  a  right  to  do  as  he  chose  with  his  own  ;  that  other 
men  wlio  were  poor  might  work,  but  that  he  had  enough  to  live 
on,  without  grinding  over  classics  and  mathematics.  He  was 
implicated  in  more  rows  than  one ;  his  tutors  saw  liim  not,  but 
he  and  the  ])roctors  became  a  great  deal  too  well  acquainted.  If 
I  were  to  give  a  history  of  Mr.  Philii)  Firmin  at  the  university, 
it  would  be  the  story  of  an  Idle  Ajiprentice,  of  whom  his  pastors 
and  masters  were  justified  in  pi'ophesying  evil.  He  was  seen  on 
lawless  London  excursions,  Avhen  his  father  and  tutor  supposed 
him  unwell  in  his  rooms  in  college.  He  made  acquaintance  with 
jolly  companions,  with  whom  his  father  grieved  that  he  should 
be  intimate.  He  cut  the  astonished  Uncle  Twysden  in  London 
Street,  and  blandly  told  him  that  he  must  be  mistaken — he  one 
Frenchman,  he  no  speak  English.  He  stared  tlie  Master  of  his 
own  college  out  of  countenance,  dashed  back  to  college  with  a 
Turpin-like  celerity,  and  was  in  rooms  Avith  a  ready-proved  alibi 
when  in(|uiries  Avere  made.  I  am  afraid  there  is  no  doul)t  that 
Phil  scrcAvcd  up  his  tutor's  door;  Mr.  Okes  discoA'erod  him  in  tlie 
act.  He  had  to  go  down,  the  young  i)rodigal.  I  Avish  I  could 
say  he  Avas  rei)entaTit.  But  lie  api)earcd  before  his  father  Avith 
the  utmost  nonchalance ;  said  that  he  was  doing  no  good  at  the 
university,  and  should  l)e  much  better  aAvay,  and  then  AA'ent  abroad 
on  a  dashing  to\ir  to  France  and  Italy,  whither  it  is  by  no  means 
our  business  to  folloAv  liim.  Something  had  ])oisoned  the  generous 
blood.     The  once  kindly  honest   lad  was  wild  and  reckless.     He 


148  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

had  money  in  sufficiency,  his  own  horses  and  equipage,  and  free 
quarters  in  his  father's  house.  But  father  and  son  scarce  met, 
and  seldom  took  a  meal  together.  "  I  know  his  haunts,  but  I 
don't  know  his  friends,  Peudennis,"  the  elder  man  said.  "  I  don't 
think  they  are  vicious,  so  much  as  low.  I  do  not  charge  him  witli 
vice,  mind  you ;  but  with  idleness,  and  a  fatal  love  of  low  com- 
pany, and  a  frantic  suicidal  determination  to  ffing  his  chances  in 
life  away.     Ah,  think  where  he  might  be,  and  where  he  is  !  " 

Where  he  was  ?  Do  not  be  alarmed.  Philip  was  only  idling. 
Philip  might  have  been  much  more  industriously,  more  profitably, 
and  a  great  deal  more  wickedly  employed.  What  is  now  called 
Bohemia  had  no  name  in  Philip's  young  days,  though  many  of  us 
knew  the  country  very  well.  A  pleasant  land,  not  fenced  with 
drab  stucco,  like  Tyburnia  or  Belgravia ;  not  guarded  by  a  huge 
standing  army  of  footmen ;  not  echoing  with  noble  chariots ;  not 
replete  with  polite  chintz  drawing-rooms  and  neat  tea-tables ;  a  land 
over  which  hangs  an  endless  fog,  occasioned  by  much  tobacco ;  a 
land  of  chambers,  billiard-rooms,  supper-rooms,  oysters ;  a  land  of 
song ;  a  land  where  soda-water  flows  freely  in  the  morning ;  a  land 
of  tin  dish-covers  from  taverns,  and  frothing  porter ;  a  land  of  lotos- 
eating  (with  lots  of  cayenne  pepper),  of  pulls  on  the  river,  of 
delicious  reading  of  novels,  magazines,  and  saunterings  in  many 
studios ;  a  land  where  men  call  each  other  by  their  Christian 
names ;  where  most  are  poor,  where  almost  all  are  young,  and 
where,  if  a  few  oldsters  do  enter,  it  is  because  they  have  preserved 
more  tenderly  and  carefully  than  other  folks  their  youthful  spirits, 
anil  tlie  delightful  capacity  to  be  idle.  I  have  lost  my  way  to 
Bohemia  now,  but  it  is  certain  that  Prague  is  the  most  picturesque 
city  in  the  world. 

Having  long  lived  there,  and  indeed  only  lately  quitted  the 
Bohemian  land  at  the  time  whereof  I  am  writing,  I  could  not  quite 
participate  in  Dr.  Firmin's  indignation  at  his  son  persisting  in  his 
bad  courses  and  wild  associates.  When  Firmin  had  been  wild  him- 
self, he  had  fought,  intrigued,  and  gambled  in  good  company.  Phil 
chose  his  friends  amongst  a  banditti  never  heard  of  in  fashionable 
quarters.  Perhaps  he  liked  to  play  the  prince  in  the  midst  of  these 
associates,  and  was  not  averse  to  the  flattery  which  a  full  purse 
brought  him  among  men  most  of  whose  pockets  had  a  meagre  lining. 
He  had  not  emigrated  to  Bohemia,  and  settled  there  altogether. 
At  school  and  in  his  brief  university  career  he  had  made  some 
friends  who  lived  in  the  world,  and  with  whom  lie  was  still  familiar. 
"  These  come  and  knock  at  my  front  door,  my  father's  door,"  he 
would  say,  with  one  of  his  old  laughs  ;  "  the  Bandits,  who  have 
the  signal,  enter  only  by  the  dissecting-room.     I  know  which  are 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      149 

the  most  honest,  and  that  it  is  not  always  the  poor  Freebooters 
who  best  deserve  to  l)e  lianged." 

Like  many  a  young  gentleman  who  has  no  intention  of  pm-suing 
legal  studies  seriously,  Philip  entered  at  an  inn  of  court,  and  kept 
his  terms  duly,  though  he  vowed  that  his  conscience  would  not  allow 
him  to  practise  (I  am  not  defending  the  opinions  of  this  scjueamish 
moralist — only  stating  tliem).  His  acquaintance  here  lay  amongst 
the  Temple  Bohemians.  He  had  part  of  a  set  of  chambers  in 
Parchment  Buildings,  to  be  sure,  and  you  might  read  on  a  door, 
"  Mr.  Cassidy,  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  Mr.  Van  John  ; "  but  were  these 
gentlemen  likely  to  advance  Pliilip  in  life  1  Cassidy  was  a  news- 
paper reporter,  and  young  Van  John  a  betting-man  wlio  was  always 
attending  races.  Dr.  Firmin  had  a  horror  of  newspaper-men,  and 
considered  they  belonged  to  the  dangerous  classes,  and  treated  them 
witli  a  distant  afiability. 

"Look  at  the  governor,  Pen,"  Philip  would  say  to  the  present 
chronicler.  "  He  always  watches  you  with  a  secret  suspicion,  and 
has  never  got  over  liis  wonder  at  your  being  a  gentleman.  I  like 
him  when  he  does  the  Lord  Cliatham  business,  and  condescends 
towards  you,  and  gives  you  his  hand  to  kiss.  He  considers  he  is 
your  better,  don't  you  see  1  Oh,  he  is  a  paragon  of  a  pcre  noJAe, 
the  governor  is  !  and  I  ought  to  be  a  young  Sir  Charles  Grandison." 
And  the  young  scapegrace  would  imitate  his  fether's  smile,  and  the 
Doctor's  manner  of  laying  his  hand  to  his  breast  and  putting  out 
his  neat  right  leg,  all  of  which  movements  or  postures  were,  I  own, 
rather  pompous  and  affected. 

Wiiatever  the  paternal  faults  were,  you  will  say  that  Pliilip  was 
not  the  man  to  criticise  them  ;  nor  in  this  matter  shall  I  attempt 
to  defend  liim.  My  wife  has  a  little  pensioner  whom  she  found 
Wandering  in  the  street,  and  singing  a  little  artless  song.  The  child 
couhl  not  speak  yet — only  warble  its  little  song;  and  had  thus 
strayed  away  from  home,  and  never  once  knew  of  her  danger.  We 
kept  her  for  a  while,  until  the  police  found  her  parents.  Our 
servants  bathed  her,  and  dressed  lier,  and  sent  her  home  in  such 
neat  clothes  as  the  poor  little  wretch  had  never  seen  until  fortune 
sent  her  in  the  way  of  those  good-natured  folks.  She  pays  them 
frequent  visits.  When  she  goes  away  from  us,  she  is  always  neat 
and  clean  ;  when  she  comes  to  us,  she  is  in  rags  and  dirty  :  a  wicked 
little  slattern  !  And  pray,  whose  duty  is  it  to  keep  her  clean  1  and 
has  not  the  i)arent  in  this  case  forgotten  to  honour  her  daughter? 
Suppose  tliere  is  some  reason  which  prevents  Philip  from  loving  his 
father — that  the  Doctor  has  neglected  to  cleanse  the  boy's  heart, 
and  by  carelessness  and  indifference  has  sent  him  erring  into  the 
world.      If  so,  woe  be  to  that  Doctor!      If  I  take  my  little  son  to 


150  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tlie  tavern  to  dinner,  shall  I  not  assuredly  pay  ?  If  I  suffer  him  in 
tender  youth  to  go  astray,  and  harm  comes  to  him,  whose  is  the 
fault  ? 

Perhaps  the  very  outrages  and  irregularities  of  which  Phil's 
father  complained,  were  in  some  degree  occasioned  by  the  elder's 
own  faults.  He  was  so  laboriously  obsequious  to  great  men,  that 
tlie  son  in  a  rage  defied  and  avoided  them.  He  was  so  grave,  so 
polite,  so  complimentary,  so  artificial,  that  Phil,  in  revolt  at  such 
hypocrisy,  chose  to  be  frank,  cynical,  and  familiar.  The  grave  old 
bigwigs  whom  the  Doctor  loved  to  assemble,  bland  and  solemn  men 
of  the  ancient  school,  who  dined  solemnly  with  each  other  at  their 
solemn  old  houses — such  men  as  old  Lord  Botley,  Baron  Bumpsher, 
Cricklade  (who  published  "  Travels  in  Asia  Minor,"  4to,  1804),  the 
Bisliop  of  St.  Bees,  and  the  like — wagged  tlieir  old  heads  sadly 
wlien  they  collogued  in  clubs,  and  talked  of  poor  Firmin's  scapegrace 
of  a  son.  He  would  come  to  no  good  ;  he  was  giving  his  good  father 
much  pain ;  he  had  been  in  all  sorts  of  rows  and  disturbances  at  the 
university,  and  the  Master  of  Boniface  reported  most  unfavourably 
of  him.  And  at  the  solemn  dinners  in  Old  Parr  Street — the  admir- 
able, costly,  silent  dinners — he  treated  these  old  gentlemen  with  a 
familiarity  which  caused  the  old  heads  to  shake  with  surprise  and 
choking  indignation.  Lord  Botley  and  Baron  Bumpsher  had  pro- 
posed and  seconded  Firmin's  boy  at  the  Megatherium  Club.  The 
pallid  old  boys  toddled  away  in  alarm  when  he  made  his  appearance 
there.  He  brought  a  smell  of  tobacco-smoke  with  him.  He  was 
capable  of  smoking  in  the  drawing-room  itself.  They  trembled 
before  Philip,  who,  for  his  part,  used  to  relish  their  senile  anger; 
and  loved,  as  he  called  it,  to  tie  all  their  pigtails  together. 

In  no  place  was  Philip  seen  or  heard  to  so  little  advantage 
as  in  his  father's  house.  "  I  feel  like  a  humbug  myself  amongst 
those  old  humbugs,"  he  would  say  to  me.  "Their  old  jokes,  and 
their  old  compliments,  and  their  virtuous  old  conversation  sicken 
me.  Are  all  old  men  humbugs,  I  wonder  ? "  It  is  not  pleasant  to 
hear  misanthropy  from  young  lips,  and  to  find  eyes  that  are  scarce 
twenty  years  old  already  looking  out  with  distrust  on  the  world. 

In  other  houses  tiian  his  own  I  am  bound  to  say  Philip  was 
much  more  amiable,  and  he  carried  with  him  a  splendour  of  gaiety 
and  cheerfulness  which  brought  sunshine  and  welcome  into  many 
a  room  which  he  frequented.  I  have  said  that  many  of  his  com- 
panions were  artists  and  journalists,  and  their  clubs  and  haimts 
were  his  own.  Ridley  the  Academician  had  Mrs.  Brandon's  rooms 
in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  Piiilip  was  often  in  J.  J.'s  studio,  or  in 
the  widow's  little  room  below.  He  had  a  very  great  tenderness 
and  affection  for  her  ;  her  presence  seemed  to  purify  him ;  and  in 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      151 

her  company  the  boisterous  reckless  young  man  was  invariably  gentle 
and  respectful.  Her  eyes  used  to  fill  with  tears  when  she  spoke 
about  him ;  and  when  he  was  present,  followed  and  watched  him 
with  sweet  motherly  devotion.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  him  at  her 
homely  little  fireside,  and  hear  his  jokes  and  prattle  with  a  fatuous 
old  father,  who  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  lodgers.  Philip  would 
play  cribbage  for  hours  with  this  old  man,  frisk  about  him  with  a 
hundred  liarmless  jokes,  and  walk  out  by  his  invalid  chair,  when 
the  old  Captain  went  to  sun  himself  in  the  New  Road.  He  was  an 
idle  fellow,  Philip,  that's  the  truth.  He  had  an  agreeable  perse- 
verance in  doing  nothing,  and  would  pass  half  a  day  in  perfect  con- 
tentment over  his  pipe,  watching  Ridley  at  his  easel.  J.  J.  painted 
that  charming  head  of  Philip  whicli  hangs  in  Mrs.  Brandon's  little 
room — with  the  fair  hair,  the  tawny  beard  and  whiskers,  and  the 
bold  blue  eyes. 

Phil  had  a  certain  after-supper  song  of  "  Garryowen  na  Gloria," 
which  it  did  you  good  to  hear,  and  which,  when  sung  at  his  full 
pitch,  you  might  hear  for  a  mile  round.  One  night  I  had  been  to 
dine  in  Russell  Square,  and  was  brought  home  in  his  carriage  by 
Dr.  Firmin,  who  was  of  the  party.  As  we  came  through  Soho, 
the  windows  of  a  certain  club-room  called  the  "  Haunt  "  were  open, 
and  we  could  hear  Philip's  song  booming  through  the  night,  and 
especially  a  certain  wild-Irish  war-whoop  with  which  it  concluded, 
amidst  universal  applause  and  enthusiastic  battering  of  glasses. 

The  poor  father  sank  back  in  the  carriage  as  though  a  blow  had 
struck  him.  "  Do  you  hear  his  voice  1 "  he  groaned  out.  "  Those 
are  his  haunts.  My  son,  who  might  go  anywhere,  prefers  to  be 
captain  in  a  potliouse,  and  sing  songs  in  a  tap-room  ! " 

I  tried  to  make  the  l)est  of  the  case.  I  knew  there  was  no 
harm  in  tlie  place ;  that  clever  men  of  considerable  note  frequented 
it.  But  tlie  wounded  father  was  not  to  be  consoled  by  such  common- 
places ;  and  a  deep  and  natural  grief  oppressed  him  in  conse(iuen(;e 
of  the  faults  of  his  son. 

What  ensued  by  no  means  surprised  me.  Among  Dr.  Firmin's 
patients  was  a  maiden  lady  of  suitable  age  and  large  fortune,  who 
looked  upon  the  accomplished  Doctor  with  favourable  eyes.  That 
he  should  take  a  comj)ani()n  to  cheer  him  in  his  solitude  was  natural 
enough,  and  all  his  friends  concurred  in  thinking  that  he  should 
marry.  Every  one  had  cognisance  of  the  (juiet  little  courtsliip, 
except  the  Doctor's  son,  between  whom  and  his  father  there  were 
only  too  many  secrets. 

Some  man  in  a  club  asked  Philip  whether  he  should  condole 
with  liim  or  congratulate  him  on  his  fatlier's  approaching  marriage? 
His  what?     The  younger   Finiiin   exhibited   the  greatest  suri>rise 


152  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  agitation  on  hearing  of  this  match.  He  ran  home  :  he  awaited 
his  father's  return.  When  Dr.  Firmin  came  home  and  betook  him- 
self to  his  study,  Philip  confronted  him  there.  "  This  must  be  a 
lie,  sir,  which  I  have  heard  to-day,"  tlie  young  man  said  fiercely. 

"  A  lie  !  what  lie,  Philip  1 "  asked  the  father.  They  were  both 
very  resolute  and  courageous  men. 

"That  you  are  going  to  marry  Miss  Benson." 

"  Do  you  make  my  house  so  happy,  tliat  I  don't  need  any  other 
(companion  1 "  asked  the  father. 

"  That's  not  the  question,"  said  Philip  hotly.  "  You  can't  and 
mustn't  marry  that  lady,  sir  !  " 

"  And  why  not,  sir?" 

"  Because  in  the  eyes  of  God  and  Heaven  you  are  married 
already,  sir.  And  I  swear  I  will  tell  Miss  Benson  the  story  to- 
mtjrrow,  if  you  persist  in  your  plan." 

"  So  you  know  that  story  ?  "  groaned  the  father. 

"Yes.     God  forgive  you,"  said  the  son. 

"  It  was  a  fault  of  my  youth  that  has  been  bitterly  repented." 

"  A  fault ! — a  crime  !  "  said  Philip. 

"  Enough,  sir  !  Whatever  my  fault,  it  is  not  for  you  to  charge 
me  with  it." 

"  If  you  won't  guard  your  own  honour,  I  must.  I  shall  go  to 
Miss  Benson  now." 

"  If  you  go  out  of  this  house  you  don't  pretend  to  return  to  it." 

"  Be  it  so.     Let  us  settle  our  accounts  and  part,  sir." 

"  Philip,  Philip  !  you  break  my  heart,"  cried  the  father. 

"You  don't  suppose  mine  is  very  light,  sir,"  said  the  son. 

Philip  never  had  Miss  Benson  for  a  mother-in-law.  But  father 
and  son  loved  each  other  no  better  after  their  dispute. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BRANDON'S 

THORNHAUGH  STREET  is  but  a  poor  place  now,  and  the 
houses  look  as  if  they  had  seen  better  days :  but  that  house 
with  the  cut  centre  drawing-room  window,  which  has  the 
name  of  Brandon  on  the  door,  is  as  neat  as  any  house  in  the 
(}uarter,  and  the  brass  jilate  always  shines  like  burnished  gold. 
About  Easter  time  many  fine  carriages  stop  at  that  door,  and 
si)lendid  people  walk  in,  introduced  by  a  tidy  little  maid,  or  else 
by  an  athletic  Italian,  Avith  a  glossy  black  beard  and  gold  earrings, 
who  conducts  them  to  the  drawing-room  floor,  where  Mr.  Ridley, 
the  painter,  lives,  and  where  his  pictures  are  privately  exhibited 
before  they  go  to  the  Royal  Academy. 

As  the  carriages  drive  up,  you  will  often  see  a  red-faced  man, 
in  aa  olive-green  wig,  smiling  blandly  over  the  blinds  of  the  parlour, 
on  the  ground-floor.  That  is  Captain  Gann,  the  father  of  the  lady 
who  keeps  the  house.  I  don't  know  how  he  came  by  the  rank 
of  cai)tain,  but  he  has  borne  it  so  long  and  gallantly  that  there 
is  no  use  in  any  longer  questioning  the  title.  He  does  not  claim 
it,  neither  does  he  deny  it.  But  the  wags  Avho  call  upon  Mrs. 
Brandon  can  always,  as  the  phrase  is,  "draw"  her  father,  by 
speaking  of  Prussia,  France,  Waterloo,  or  battles  in  general,  until 
the  Little  Sister  says,  "  Now,  never  mind  about  the  battle  of 
Waterloo,  papa"  (she  says  pa — her  A's  are  irregular — I  can't  help 
it) — "  Never  mind  about  Watei-loo,  papa ;  you've  told  them  all 
about  it.  And  don't  go  on,  Mr.  Beans,  don't,  2^ie(^se,  go  on  in 
that  way." 

Young  Beans  has  already  drawn  "  (Japtain  Gann  (assistc<l  by 
Shaw,  the  Life-Guardsman)  killing  twenty-four  French  cuirassiers 
at  Waterloo."  "Captain  Gann  defending  Hougoumont."  "Captain 
Gann,  called  upon  by  Napoleon  Bona])arte  to  lay  down  his  arms, 
saying,  'A  ca])tain  of  militia  dies,  but  never  surrenders.'"  "The 
Duke  of  Wellington  jujinting  to  the  advancing  Old  Guard,  and 
saying,  '  Up,  Gann,  and  at  them.' "  And  these  sketches  are 
so  droll,  that  even  tiie  Little  Sister,  Gann's  own  daughter,  can't 
help    laughing    at    tliem.      To   be   sure,    she    loves    fun,    the    Little 


154  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Sister ;  laughs  over  droll  books ;  laughs  to  herself,  in  her  little 
quiet  corner  at  work ;  laughs  over  pictures ;  and,  at  the  right 
place,  laughs  and  sympathises  too.  Ridley  says,  he  knows  few 
better  critics  of  pictures  than  Mrs.  Brandon.  She  has  a  sweet 
temper,  a  merry  sense  of  humour,  that  makes  the  cheeks  dimple 
and  the  eyes  shine ;  and  a  kind  heart,  that  has  been  sorely  tried 
and  wounded,  but  is  still  soft  and  gentle.  Fortunate  are  they 
whose  hearts,  so  tried  by  suffering,  yet  recover  their  health.  Some 
have  illnesses  from  v/liich  there  is  no  recovery,  and  drag  through 
life  afterwards,  maimed  and  invalided. 

But  this  Little  Sister,  having  been  subjected  in  youth  to 
a  dreadful  trial  and  sorrow,  was  saved  out  of  them  by  a  kind 
Providence,  and  is  now  so  thoroughly  restored  as  to  own  that 
she  is  happy,  and  to  thank  God  that  slie  can  be  grateful  and 
useful.  When  poor  Montfitchet  died,  she  nursed  him  through 
liis  illness  as  tenderly  as  his  good  wife  herself.  In  the  days  of 
her  own  chief  grief  and  misfortune,  her  father,  who  was  under  the 
domination  of  his  wife,  a  cruel  and  blundering  woman,  thrust  out 
poor  little  Caroline  from  his  door,  when  she  returned  to  it  the 
broken-hearted  victim  of  a  scoundrel's  seduction ;  and  when  the 
old  Captain  was  himself  in  want  and  houseless,  she  had  found 
liim,  sheltered  and  fed  him.  And  it  was  from  that  day  her  wounds 
had  begun  to  heal,  and,  from  gratitude  for  this  immense  piece  of 
good  fortune  vouchsafed  to  her,  that  her  happiness  and  cheerful- 
ness returned.  Returned  ?  There  was  an  old  servant  of  the  fiimily, 
who  could  not  stay  in  the  house  because  she  was  so  abominably 
disrespectful  to  the  Captain,  and  this  woman  said  she  had  never 
known  Miss  Caroline  so  cheerful,  nor  so  happy,  nor  so  good-looking, 
as  she  was  now. 

So  Captain  Gann  came  to  live  with  his  daughter,  and  patronised 
her  with  much  dignity.  He  had  a  very  few  yearly  pounds,  which 
served  to  pay  his  club  expenses,  and  a  portion  of  his  clothes.  His 
club,  I  need  not  say,  was  at  the  "Admiral  Byng,"  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  and  here  the  Captain  met  frequently  a  pleasant  little  society, 
and  bragged  unceasingly  about  his  former  prosperity. 

I  have  heard  that  the  country-house  in  Kent,  of  which  he 
boasted,  was  a  shabby  little  lodging-house  at  Margate,  of  which  the 
furniture  was  sold  in  execution ;  but  if  it  had  been  a  palace  the 
Captain  would  not  have  been  out  of  place  there,  one  or  two  people 
still  rather  fondly  thought.  His  daughter,  amongst  others,  had 
tried  to  fancy  all  sorts  of  good  of  her  father,  and  especially  that  he 
was  a  man  of  remarkably  good  manners.  But  she  had  seen  one  or 
two  gentlemen  since  she  knew  the  poor  old  father — gentlemen  with 
rough    coats  and  good    hearts,   like   Dr.    Goodenough ;    gentlemen 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      155 

with  superfine  coats  aud  superfine  double-milled  manners,  like  Dr. 
Firmin,  and  hearts — well,  never  mind  about  that  point ;  gentlemen 
of  no  A's,  like  tlie  good  dear  faitld'ul  benefactor  who  had  rescued 
her  at  the  brink  of  despair;  men  of  genius,  like  Ridley;  great 
hearty  generous  honest  gentlemen,  like  Philip  ; — and  this  illusion 
about  pa,  I  sujipose,  had  vanished  along  with  some  other  fancies  of 
her  poor  little  maiden  youtli.  The  truth  is,  she  had  an  understand- 
ing with  the  "  Admiral  Byng  "  :  the  landlady  was  instructed  as  to 
the  supplies  to  be  furnished  to  the  Captain ;  and  as  for  his  stories, 
poor  Caroline  knew  them  a  great  deal  too  well  to  believe  in  tliem 
any  more. 

I  would  not  be  understood  to  accuse  the  Captain  of  habitual 
inebriety.  He  was  a  generous  officer,  and  his  delight  was,  when 
in  cash,  to  order  "glasses  round"  for  the  company  at  the  club,  to 
whom  he  narrated  the  history  of  his  brilliant  early  days,  when  he 
lived  in  some  of  the  tip-top  society  of  this  city,  sir — a  society  in 
which,  we  need  not  say,  the  custom  always  is  for  gentlemen  to 
treat  other  gentlemen  to  rum-and-water.  Never  mind — I  wish  we 
were  all  as  happy  as  tiie  Captain.  I  see  his  jolly  face  now  before 
me  as  it  blooms  through  the  window  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the 
wave  of  the  somewhat  dingy  hand  which  sweeps  me  a  gracious 
recognition. 

The  clergyman  of  the  neighbouring  chapel  was  a  very  good 
friend  of  the  Little  Sister,  and  has  taken  tea  in  her  parlour ;  to 
which  circumstance  the  Captain  frequently  alluded,  pointing  out 
the  very  chair  on  which  tlie  divine  sat.  Mr.  Gann  attended  his 
ministrations  regularly  every  Sunday,  and  brought  a  rich,  though 
somewhat  worn,  bass  voice  to  bear  upon  the  anthems  and  hymns  at 
the  chapel.  His  style  was  more  florid  tlian  is  general  now  among 
church  singers,  and,  indeed,  had  been  aciiuircd  in  a  former  age  and 
in  the  performaiK^c  of  rich  Bacchanalian  chants,  such  as  delighted 
the  contemporaries  of  our  Licledons  and  lirahams.  With  a  very 
little  entreaty  the  Captain  could  be  induced  to  sing  at  the  club ; 
and  I  must  own  that  Phil  Firmin  would  draw  the  Captain  out, 
and  extract  from  him  a  song  of  ancient  days  ;  but  this  must  be  in 
the  absence  of  his  daughter,  whose  little  face  wore  an  air  of  such 
extreme  terror  and  disturbance  when  her  father  sang,  that  he 
presently  ceased  from  exercising  his  musical  talents  in  her  hearing. 
He  hung  up  his  lyre,  whereof  it  must  be  owned  that  time  had 
l)n)ken  many  of  the  once  resounding  chords. 

With  a  sketch  or  two  contributed  by  her  lodgers — with  a  few 
gimcracks  from  the  neighbouring  Wardour  Street  presente<l  by 
others  of  her  friends  -  with  the  chairs,  tables,  and  Inireaux  as 
])right   as    becs'-wax   and   rubbing    could    make   them — the   Little 


156  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Sister's  room  was  a  cheery  little  place,  and  received  not  a  little 
company.  She  allowed  pa's  pipe.  "  It's  company  to  him,"  she 
said.  "  A  man  can't  be  doing  miicli  harm  when  he  is  smoking  his 
pipe."  And  she  allowed  Phil's  cigar.  Anything  was  allowed  to 
Phil,  the  other  lodgers  declared,  who  professed  to  be  quite  jealous 
of  Philip  Firmin.  She  had  a  very  few  books.  "When  I  was  a 
girl  I  used  to  be  always  reading  novels,"  she  said;  "but  la,  they're 
mostly  nonsense.  There's  Mr.  Pendennis,  who  comes  to  see  Mr. 
Ridley.  I  wonder  how  a  married  man  can  go  on  writing  about 
love,  and  all  that  stuff ! "  And,  indeed,  it  is  rather  absurd  for 
elderly  fingers  to  be  still  twanging  Dan  Cupid's  toy  bow  and 
arrows.  Yesterday  is  gone — yes,  but  very  well  remembered  ;  and 
we  think  of  it  the  more  now  we  know  that  To-morrow  is  not  going 
to  bring  us  much. 

Into  Mrs.  Brandon's  parlour  Mr.  Ridley's  old  father  would 
sometimes  enter  of  evenings,  and  share  the  bit  of  bread  and  cheese,  or 
the  modest  supper  of  Mrs.  Brandon  and  the  Captain.  The  homely 
little  meal  has  almost  vanished  out  of  our  life  now,  but  in  former 
days  it  assembled  many  a  family  round  its  kindly  board.  A  little 
modest  supper-tray — a  little  (piiet  prattle — a  little  kindly  glass  that 
cheered  and  never  inebriated.  I  can  see  friendly  faces  smiling 
round  such  a  meal,  at  a  period  not  far  gone,  but  how  distant !  I 
wonder  whether  there  are  any  old  folks  now,  in  old  quarters  of  old 
country  towns,  who  come  to  each  other's  houses  in  sedan-chairs, 
at  six  o'clock,  and  play  at  quadrille  until  supper-tray  time  1  Of 
evenings  Ridley  and  the  Ca])tain,  I  say,  would  have  a  solemn  game 
at  cribbage,  and  the  Little  Sister  would  make  uj)  a  jug  of  something 
good  for  the  two  oldsters.  She  likeil  Mr.  Ridley  to  come,  for  he 
always  treated  her  father  so  respectful,  and  was  quite  the  gentle- 
man. And  as  for  Mrs.  Ridley,  Mr.  R.'s  "good  lady," — was  she 
not  also  grateful  to  the  Little  Sister  for  having  nursed  her  son 
during  his  malady  1  Through  their  connection  they  were  enabled 
to  procure  Mrs.  Brandon  many  valuable  friends j  and  always  were 
pleased  to  pass  an  evening  with  the  Captain,  and  were  as  civil  to 
him  as  they  could  have  been  had  he  been  at  the  very  height  of  his 
prosperity  and  splendour.  My  private  opinion  of  the  old  Captain, 
you  see,  is  that  he  was  a  worthless  old  Captain,  but  most  fortunate 
in  his  early  ruin,  after  which  lie  had  lived  very  much  admired  and 
comfortable,  sufficient  whisky  being  almost  always  provided  for  him. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley's  respect  for  her  father  afforded  a  most  precious 
consolation  to  the  Little  Sister.  Ridley  liked  to  have  the  paper 
read  to  him.  He  was  never  quite  easy  with  print,  and  to  his  last 
days  many  words  to  be  met  with  in  newspapers  and  elsewhere  used 
to  occasion  the  good  butler  much  intellectual  trouble.     The  Little 


THE    01.11    KOCilKS. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      157 

Sister  made  his  lodgers'  bills  out  for  him  (Mr.  R.,  as  well  as  the 
Cai)tain's  daughter,  strove  to  increase  a  small  income  by  the  letting 
of  furnished  ai)artments),  or  the  Ca|)tain  himself  would  take  these 
documents  in  charge ;  he  wrote  a  noble  mercantile  hand,  rendered 
now  somewhat  shaky  by  time,  but  still  very  fine  in  flourishes  and 
capitals,  and  very  much  at  worthy  Mr.  Ridley's  service.  Time  was, 
when  his  son  was  a  boy,  that  J.  J.  himself  had  prei)are(l  these 
accounts,  which  neither  liis  father  nor  his  mother  was  veiy  compe- 
tent to  arrange.  "  We  were  not,  in  our  young  time,  Mr.  Gann," 
Ridley  remarked  to  his  friend,  "  brought  up  to  much  scliolarship ; 
and  very  little  book-learning  was  given  to  persons  in  my  rank  of 
life.  It  was  necessary  and  proper  for  you  gentlemen,  of  course, 
sir."  "  Of  course,  Mr.  Ridley,"  winks  the  other  veteran  over  his 
pipe.  "  But  I  can't  go  and  ask  my  son  John  James  to  keep  his 
old  father's  books  now  as  he  used  to  do — which  to  do  so  is,  on  the 
part  of  you  and  Mrs.  Brandon,  the  part  of  true  friendship,  and  I 
value  it,  sir,  and  so  do  my  son  John  James  reckonise  and  value  it, 
sir."  Mr.  Ridley  had  served  gentlemen  of  the  bonne  ecole.  No 
nobleman  could  be  more  (courtly  and  grave  than  he  was.  In  Mr. 
Gann's  manner  there  was  more  humorous  playfulness,  which  in  no 
way,  however,  diminished  tlie  Captain's  high  breeding.  As  lie  con- 
tinued to  be  intimate  witli  Mr.  Ridley,  he  became  loftier  and  more 
majestic.  I  think  each  of  tliese  elders  acted  on  the  other,  and  for 
good ;  and  I  hope  Ridley's  opinion  was  correct,  that  Mr.  Gann  was 
ever  the  gentleman.  To  see  these  two  good  fogies  together  was  a 
spectacle  for  edification.  Their  tumblers  kissed  each  other  on  the 
table.  Their  elderly  friendship  brought  comfort  to  themselves  and 
their  families.  A  little  matter  of  money  once  created  a  coolness 
between  the  two  old  gentlemen.  But  the  Little  Sister  paid  tlie 
outstanding  account  between  her  father  and  Mr.  Ridley :  tliere 
never  was  any  further  talk  of  pecuniary  loans  between  them ;  and 
when  they  went  to  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  each  i)aid  for  himself. 

Phil  often  heard  of  that  nightly  meeting  at  the  "  Admiral's 
Head,"  and  longed  to  be  of  the  company.  But  even  when  he  saw 
the  old  gentlemen  in  the  Little  Sister's  parlour,  th(\y  felt  dindy 
that  he  was  making  fun  of  them.  The  Captain  would  not  have 
been  able  to  brag  so  at  ease  had  Phil  been  continually  watching 
him.  "  I  have  'ad  the  honour  of  waiting  on  your  worthy  father  at 
my  Lord  Todmorden's  table.  Our  little  club  ain't  no  place  for  you, 
Mr.  Philip,  nor  for  my  son,  though  he's  a  good  son,  and  proud  me 
and  his  mother  is  of  him,  which  he  have  never  gave  us  a  moment's 
pain,  except  when  he  was  ill,  since  he  have  came  to  man's  estate, 
most  thankful  aTu  I,  and  with  my  hand  on  my  heart,  for  to  be  able 
to  say  so.     But  what  is  good  for  me  and  Mr.  Gann,  won't  suit  you 


158  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

youDg  gentlemen.  You  ain't  a  tradesman,  sir,  else  I'm  mistaken 
in  the  family,  which  I  thought  the  Ringwoods  one  of  the  best  in 
England,  and  tlie  Firmins  a  good  one  likewise."  Mr.  Ridley  loved 
the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  At  the  festive  meetings  of  the  club, 
seldom  a  night  passed  in  which  he  did  not  compliment  his  brother 
Byngs  and  air  his  own  oratory.  Under  this  reproof  Phil  blushed, 
and  hung  his  conscious  head  with  shame.  "  Mr.  Ridley,"  says  he, 
"  you  shall  find  I  won't  come  where  I  am  not  welcome ;  and  if  I 
come  to  annoy  you  at  the  '  Admiral  Byng,'  may  I  be  taken  out 
on  the  quarter-deck  and  shot."  On  which  Mr.  Ridley  pronounced 
Philip  to  be  a  "  most  sing'lar,  astrornary,  and  ascentric  young  man. 
A  good  heart,  sir.  Most  generous  to  relieve  distress.  Fine  talent, 
sir ;  but  I  fear — I  fear  they  won't  come  to  much  good,  Mr.  Gann — 
saving  your  presence,  Mrs.  Brandon,  m'm,  which,  of  course,  you 
ahvays  stand  up  for  him." 

When  Philip  Firmin  had  had  his  pipe  and  his  talk  with  the 
Little  Sister  in  her  parlour,  he  would  ascend  and  smoke  his  second, 
third,  tenth  pipe  in  J.  J.  Ridley's  studio.  He  would  pass  hours 
before  J.  J.'s  easel,  pouring  out  talk  about  politics,  about  religion, 
about  poetry,  about  women,  about  the  dreadful  slavishness  and 
meanness  of  the  world ;  unwearied  in  talk  and  idleness,  as  placid 
J.  J.  was  in  listening  and  labour.  The  painter  had  been  too  busy 
in  life  over  his  easel  to  read  many  books.  His  ignorance  of  literature 
smote  him  with  a  frequent  shame.  He  admired  book-writers,  and 
young  men  of  the  university  who  quoted  their  Greek  and  their 
Horace  glibly.  He  listened  with  deference  to  their  talk  on  such 
matters ;  no  doubt  got  good  hints  from  some  of  them ;  was  always 
secretly  pained  and  surprised  when  the  university  gentlemen  were 
beaten  in  argument,  or  loud  and  coarse  in  conversation,  as  sometimes 
they  would  be.  "J.  J.  is  a  very  clever  fellow  of  course,"  Mr. 
Jarman  would  say  of  him,  "  and  the  luckiest  man  in  Europe.  He 
loves  painting,  and  he  is  at  work  all  day.  He  loves  toadying  fine 
people,  and  he  goes  to  a  tea-jjarty  every  night."  You  all  knew 
Jarman  of  Charlotte  Street,  the  miniatui'e-painter  1  He  was  one  of 
the  kings  of  the  "  Haunt."  His  tongue  spared  no  one.  He  envied 
all  success,  and  the  sight  of  prosperity  made  him  furious  ;  but  to  the 
unsuccessful  he  was  kind  ;  to  the  poor  eager  with  help  and  prodigal 
of  compassion  ;  and  that  old  talk  about  nature's  noblemen  and  the 
glory  of  labour  Avas  very  fiercely  and  eloquently  waged  by  him. 
His  friends  admired  him  :  he  was  the  soul  of  independence,  and 
thought  most  men  sneaks  who  wore  clean  linen  and  frequented 
gentlemen's  society  :  but  it  must  be  owned  his  landlords  had  a  bad 
opinion  of  him,  and  I  have  heard  of  one  or  two  of  his  pecuniary 
transactions   whicli    certainly  were   not    to    Mr.    Jarman's    credit. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      159 

Jarman  was  a  man  of  remarkable  humour.  He  was  fond  of  the 
widow,  and  would  speak  of  her  goodness,  usefulness,  and  honesty 
with  tears  in  his  eyes.  She  was  poor  and  struggling  yet.  Had 
she  been  wealthy  and  prosperous,  Mr.  Jarman  would  not  have  been 
so  alive  to  h(!r  merit. 

We  ascend  to  the  room  on  the  first  floor,  where  the  centre 
window  has  been  heightened,  so  as  to  aftbrd  an  upjier  light,  and 
under  that  stream  of  radiance  we  behold  the  head  of  an  old  friend, 
Mr.  J.  J.  Ridley,  the  Royal  Academician.  Time  has  somewhat 
thiimed  his  own  copious  locks,  and  prematurely  streaked  the  head 
with  silver.  His  face  is  rather  wan  ;  the  eager  sensitive  hand  which 
poises  brush  and  palette,  and  quivers  over  the  picture,  is  very  thin  : 
round  his  eyes  are  many  lines  of  ill  health  and,  perhaps,  care,  but 
the  eyes  are  as  bright  as  ever,  and  when  tliey  look  at  the  canvas, 
or  the  model  which  he  transfers  to  it,  clear  and  keen  and  happy. 
He  has  a  very  sweet  singing  voice,  and  warbles  at  his  work,  or 
whistles  at  it,  smiling.  He  sets  his  hand  little  feats  of  skill  to 
l)erform,  and  smiles  Avith  a  boyish  pleasure  at  his  own  matchless 
dexterity.  I  have  seen  him,  with  an  old  pewter  mustard-pot  for  a 
model,  fashion  a  sjjlendid  silver  fiagon  in  one  of  his  pictures  ;  paint 
the  hair  of  an  animal,  the  folds  and  flowers  of  a  bit  of  brocade,  and 
so  forth,  with  a  perfect  delight  in  the  work  he  was  performing  :  a 
delight  lasting  from  morning  till  sundown,  during  which  time  he 
was  too  busy  to  touch  the  biscuit  and  glass  of  water  which  was 
prepared  for  his  frugal  luncheon.  He  is  greedy  of  the  last  minute 
of  light,  and  never  can  be  got  from  his  darling  pictures  without  a 
regret.  To  be  a  painter,  and  to  have  your  hand  in  perfect  command, 
I  hold  to  be  one  of  life's  summa  bona.  The  happy  mixture  of  hand 
and  head  work  must  render  the  occupation  sui)remely  ])lcasant.  In 
the  day's  work  must  occur  endless  delightful  difficulties  and  occa- 
si(Mis  for  skill.  Over  the  details  of  that  armour,  that  drapery,  or 
wliat  not,  the  sparkle  of  that  eye,  the  downy  blush  of  that  cheek, 
tlie  jewel  on  that  neck,  tliere  are  battles  to  be  fought  and  victories 
to  be  won.  Each  day  there  must  occur  critical  moments  of  su{)reme 
struggle  and  triumi)li,  when  struggle  and  victoiy  must  be  both 
invigorating  and  ex(iuisitely  jjleasing — as  a  burst  across  country  is 
to  a  fine  rider  perfectly  mounted,  who  knows  that  his  courage 
and  his  horse  will  never  fail  him.  There  is  the  excitement  of 
tlie  game,  and  the  gallant  delight  in  winning  it.  Of  this  sort 
of  adiniral)le  reward  for  their  labour,  no  inen,  I  think,  have  a 
greater  share  than  painters  (perhaps  a  violin-player  ])crfect]y  and 
triumphantly  jierforming  his  own  beautiful  composition  may  be 
e(iually  ha[)py).  Here  is  occupation  :  here  is  excitement  :  here 
is  struggle  and  victory  :  and  liere  is  profit.     Can  man  ask  more 


160  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

from  fortune  ?     Dukes  and  Rothschilds  may  be  envious  of  such  a 
man. 

Thougli  Ridley  has  had  his  trials  and  troubles,  as  we  shall 
presently  learn,  his  art  has  mastered  them  all.  Black  care  may 
have  sat  in  crupper  on  that  Pegasus,  but  has  never  unhorsed  the 
rider.  In  certain  minds,  art  is  dominant  and  superior  to  all  beside 
— stronger  than  love,  stronger  than  hate,  or  care,  or  penury.  As 
soon  as  the  fever  leaves  the  hand  free,  it  is  seizing  and  fondling 
the  pencil.  Love  may  frown  and  be  false,  but  the  otlier  mistress 
never  will.  She  is  always  true  :  always  new :  always  the  friend, 
companion,  inestimable  consoler.  So  John  James  Ridley  sat  at  his 
easel  from  breakfast  till  sundown,  and  never  left  his  work  quite 
willingly.  I  wonder  are  men  of  other  trades  so  enamoured  of  theirs  ; 
whether  lawyers  cling  to  the  last  to  their  darling  reports  ;  or  writers 
prefer  their  desks  and  inkstands  to  society,  to  friendship,  to  dear 
idleness  1  I  have  seen  no  men  in  life  loving  their  profession  so  much 
as  painters,  except,  perhaps,  actors,  who,  when  not  engaged  them- 
selves, always  go  to  the  play. 

Before  this  busy  easel  Phil  would  sit  for  hours,  and  pour  out 
endless  talk  and  tobacco-smoke.  His  presence  was  a  delight  to 
Ridley's  soul;  his  face  a  sunshine;  his  voice  a  cordial.  Weakly 
himself,  and  almost  infii-m  of  body,  with  sensibilities  tremulously 
keen,  the  painter  most  admired  amongst  men  strength,  health,  good 
spirits,  good  breeding.  Of  these,  in  his  youth,  Philip  had  a  wealth 
of  endowment ;  and  I  hope  these  precious  gifts  of  fortune  have  not 
left  him  in  his  maturer  age.  I  do  not  say  that  with  all  men  Philip 
was  so  popular.  There  are  some  who  never  can  pardon  good  fortune, 
and  in  the  company  of  gentlemen  are  on  the  wctch  for  offence ;  and, 
no  doubt,  in  his  course  through  life,  poor  downright  Phil  trampled 
upon  corns  enough  of  those  who  met  him  in  his  way.  "  Do  you 
know  why  Ridley  is  so  fond  of  Firmin  1 "  asked  Jarman.  "  Because 
Firmin's  father  hangs  on  to  the  nobility  by  the  pulse,  whilst 
Ridley,  you  know,  is  connected  with  them  through  the  side- 
board." So  Jarman  had  the  double  horn  for  his  adversary  :  he  could 
despise  a  man  for  not  being  a  gentleman,  and  insult  him  for  being 
one.  I  have  met  with  people  in  the  world  with  whom  the  latter 
offence  is  an  unpardonable  crime  —a  cause  of  ceaseless  doubt,  division, 
and  suspicion.  What  more  common  or  natural,  Bufo,  than  to  hate 
another  for  being  what  you  are  not "?  The  story  is  as  old  as  frogs, 
bulls,  and  men. 

Then,  to  be  sure,  besides  your  enviers  in  life,  there  are  your 
admirers.  Beyond  wit,  which  he  understood — beyond  genius,  which 
he  had — ^Ridley  admired  good  looks  and  manners,  and  always  kept 
some  simple  hero  whom  he  loved  secretly  to  cherish  and  worship. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      l6l 

He  loved  to  be  amongst  beautiful  women  and  aristocratieal  men. 
Philip  Finnin,  with  his  Republican  notions  and  downright  bluntuess 
of  behaviour  to  all  men  of  rank  superior  to  him,  had  a  grand  high 
manner  of  his  own  ;  and  if  he  had  scarce  twopence  in  his  pocket, 
would  have  put  his  hands  in  them  with  as  mucli  independence  as 
tlie  greatest  dandy  who  ever  sauntered  on  Pall  Mall  pavement. 
What  a  coolness  the  fellow  had  !  Some  men  may,  not  unreasonably, 
have  thought  it  impudence.  It  fascinated  Ridley.  To  be  such  a 
man  ;  to  have  such  a  figure  and  manner ;  to  be  able  to  look  society 
in  the  face,  slap  it  on  the  shoulder,  if  you  were  so  minded,  and 
hold  it  by  the  button — what  would  not  Ridley  give  for  such  powers 
and  accomplishments  1  You  will  please  to  bear  in  mind,  I  am  not 
saying  that  J.  J.  was  right,  only  that  he  was  as  he  was.  I  hope 
we  shall  have  nobody  in  this  story  without  his  little  faults  and 
peculiarities.  Jarman  was  quite  right  when  he  said  Ridley  loved 
tine  con)pany.  I  believe  his  pedigree  gave  him  secret  anguishes. 
He  would  rather  have  been  gentleman  than  genius  ever  so  great ; 
but  let  you  and  me,  who  have  no  weaknesses  of  our  own,  try  and 
look  charitably  on  'Jiis  confessed  foible  of  my  friend. 

J.  J.  never  thought  of  rebuking  Philip  for  being  idle.  Phil 
was  as  the  lilies  of  the  field,  in  the  painter's  opinion.  He  was  not 
called  upon  to  toil  or  spin ;  but  to  take  his  ease,  and  grow  and  bask 
in  sunshine,  and  be  arrayed  in  glory.  The  little  clique  of  painters 
knew  wiiat  Firmin's  means  were.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  of  his 
own.  Thirty  thousand  pounds  down,  sir ;  and  the  inheritance  of 
his  father's  immense  fortune  !  A  splendour  emanated  from  this 
gifted  young  man.  His  opinions,  his  jokes,  his  laughter,  his  song 
had  the  weight  of  thirty  thousand  down,  sir  ;  and  &c.  &c.  What 
call  had  he  to  work  1  Would  you  set  a  young  nobleman  to  be  an 
apprentice  1  Philip  was  free  to  be  as  idle  as  any  lord,  if  he  liked. 
He  oiiglit  to  wear  fine  clothes,  ride  fine  horses,  dine  off  i)late,  and 
drink  champagne  every  day.  J.  J.  would  work  quite  cheerfully 
till  sunset,  and  have  an  eightpenny  i)late  of  meat  in  Wardour  Street 
and  a  glass  of  porter  for  his  humble  dinner.  At  the  "  Haunt,"  and 
similar  places  of  Bohemian  resort,  a  snug  place  near  the  fire  was 
always  found  for  Firmin.  Fierce  Republican  as  he  was,  Jarman 
had  a  smile  for  his  lordship,  and  used  to  adopt  particularly  dandi- 
fied airs  when  he  had  been  invited  to  Old  Parr  Street  to  dinner. 
I  daresay  Philip  liked  flattery.  I  own  that  he  was  a  little  weak 
in  this  respect,  and  that  you  and  I,  my  dear  sir,  are,  of  coiu-se,  far 
liis  superiors.  J.  J.,  who  loved  him,  would  have  had  him  follow 
his  avuit's  and  his  cousin's  advice,  and  live  in  better  company  ;  but 
I  tliink  the  painter  would  not  have  liked  his  ])et  to  soil  his  hands 
with  too  much  work,  and  rather  adinirctl  Mr.  I'hil  for  being  idle 

11  L 


162  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

The  Little  Sister  gave  him  advice,  to  be  sure,  both  as  to  the 
company  he  should  keep  and  the  occupation  which  was  wholesome 
for  him.  But  wlien  others  of  his  acquaintance  hinted  that  his 
idleness  would  do  him  harm,  she  would  not  hear  of  their  censure. 
"  Why  should  he  work  if  he  don't  choose  1 "  she  asked.  "  He  has 
no  call  to  be  scribbling  and  scrabbling.  You  wouldn't  have  him 
sitting  all  day  painting  little  dolls'  heads  on  canvas,  and  working 
like  a  slave.  A  pretty  idea,  indeed !  His  uncle  will  get  him  an 
appointment.  That's  the  thing  he  should  have.  He  should  be 
secretary  to  an  ambassador  abroad,  and  he  ivill  be  !  "  In  fact  Phil, 
at  this  period,  used  to  announce  his  wish  to  enter  the  diplomatic 
service,  and  his  hope  tliat  Lord  Ringwood  would  further  his  views 
in  that  respect.  Meanwhile  he  was  the  King  of  Thornhaugh  Street. 
He  might  be  as  idle  as  he  chose,  and  Mrs.  Brandon  had  always  a 
smile  for  him.  He  might  smoke  a  great  deal  too  much,  but  she 
worked  dainty  little  cigar-cases  for  him.  She  hemmed  his  fine 
cambric  pocket-handkerchiefs,  and  embroidered  his  crest  at  the 
corners.  She  worked  him  a  waistcoat  so  splendid  that  he  almost 
blushed  to  wear  it,  gorgeous  as  he  was  in  apparel  at  this  period, 
and  sumptuous  in  chains,  studs,  and  haberdashery.  I  fear  Dr. 
Firmin,  sighing  out  his  disappointed  hopes  in  respect  of  his  son, 
has  rather  good  cause  for  his  dissatisfaction.  But  of  these  remon- 
strances the  Little  Sister  would  not  hear.  "Idle,  why  nof?  Why 
should  he  work  1  Boys  will  be  boys.  I  daresay  his  grumbling 
old  pa  was  not  better  than  Philip  when  he  was  young  !  "  And  this 
she  spoke  with  a  heightened  colour  in  her  little  face,  and  a  defiant 
toss  of  her  head,  of  which  I  did  not  undei'stand  all  the  significance 
then ;  but  attributed  her  eager  partisanship  to  that  admirable  in- 
justice which  belongs  to  all  good  women,  and  for  which  let  us  be 
daily  thankful.  I  know,  dear  ladies,  you  are  angry  at  this  state- 
ment. But,  even  at  the  risk  of  displeasing  yow,  we  must  tell  the 
truth.  You  would  wish  to  represent  yourselves  as  equitable, 
logical,  and  strictly  just.  So,  I  daresay,  Dr.  Johnson  would  have 
liked  Mrs.  Thrale  to  say  to  him,  "  Sir,  your  manners  are  graceful : 
your  person  elegant,  cleanly,  and  eminently  pleasing ;  your  appetite 
small  (especially  for  tea),  and  your  dancing  equal  to  the  Violetta's  ;  " 
which,  you  perceive,  is  merely  ironical.  Women  equitable,  logical, 
and  strictly  just !  Mercy  upon  us  !  If  they  were,  population 
would  cease,  the  world  would  be  a  howling  wilderness.  Well,  in 
a  word,  this  Little  Sister  jjetted  and  coaxed  Philip  Firmin  in  such 
an  absurd  way  that  every  one  remarked  it — those  who  had  no  friends, 
no  sweethearts,  no  mothers,  no  daughters,  no  wives,  and  those  who 
were  petted,  and  coaxed,  and  spoiled  at  home  themselves ;  as  I 
trust,  dearly  beloved,  is  your  case. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      \63 

Now,  again,  let  us  admit  that  Philip's  father  had  reason  to  be 
angry  with  the  boy,  and  deplore  his  son's  taste  for  low  company  ; 
but  excuse  the  young  man,  on  tlie  other  hand,  somewhat  for  his 
fierce  revolt  and  profound  distaste  at  much  in  his  home  circle 
which  annoyed  him.  "  By  Heaven  !  "  he  would  roar  out,  i)ulling  his 
hair  and  whiskers,  and  with  many  fierce  ejaculations,  according  to 
his  wont,  "  the  solemnity  of  those  humbugs  sickens  me  so,  that 
I  siiould  like  to  crown  the  old  bishop  with  the  soup-tureen,  and 
box  Baron  Bumpsher's  ears  with  the  saddle  of  mutton.  At  my 
aunt's,  the  humbug  is  just  the  same.  It's  better  done,  jjerhaps  ; 
but  oh,  Pendennis !  if  you  could  but  know  the  pangs  which  tore 
into  my  heart,  sir,  the  vulture  which  gnawed  at  this  confounded 
liver,  wlieu  I  saw  women — women  who  ought  to  be  pure — women 
who  ought  to  be  like  angels — women  who  ought  to  know  no  art 
but  that  of  coaxing  our  griefs  away  and  soothing  our  sorrows — 
fawning,  and  cringing,  and  scheming  ;  cold  to  this  person,  humble 
to  tliat,  rtattering  to  the  rich,  and  indifterent  to  the  hundjle  in 
station.  I  tell  you  I  have  seen  all  this,  Mi-s.  Pendennis  !  I  won't 
mention  names,  but  I  have  jnet  with  those  who  have  made  me  old 
before  my  time — a  hundred  years  old  !  The  zest  of  life  is  passed 
from  me "  (here  Mr.  Phil  would  gulp  a  bumper  from  the  nearest 
decanter  at  hand).  "  But  if  I  like  what  your  husband  is  pleased 
to  call  low  society,  it  is  because  I  have  seen  the  other.  I  have 
dangled  about  at  fine  parties,  and  danced  at  fashionable  balls.  I 
liave  seen  mothers  bring  their  virgin  daughters  up  to  battered  old 
rakes,  and  ready  to  sacrifice  their  innocence  for  fortune  or  a  title. 
The  atmosphere  of  those  polite  diawing-rooms  stifles  me.  I  can't 
bow  the  knee  to  the  horrible  old  Mammon.  I  walk  about  in  the 
crowds  as  lonely  as  if  I  was  in  a  wilderness ;  and  don't  begin  to 
breathe  freely  until  I  get  some  honest  tobacco  to  clear  the  air.  As 
for  your  husband  "  (meaning  the  writer  of  this  memoir),  "  he  cannot 
help  himself;  he  is  a  worldling,  of  the  earth  earthy.  If  a  tluke 
were  to  ask  him  to  dinner  to-morrow,  the  parasite  owns  that  he 
would  go.  Allow  me  my  friends,  my  freedom,  my  rough  com- 
l)anions,  in  their  work-day  clothes.  I  don't  hear  such  lies  and 
flatteries  come  from  beiiind  pipes,  as  used  to  jiass  liom  above  white 
chokers  when  I  was  in  the  world."  And  he  Avould  tear  at  his 
cravat,  as  though  the  mere  thought  of  the  world's  conventionality 
well-nigh  strangled  him. 

This,  to  be  sure,  was  in  a  late  stage  of  his  career ;  but  I 
take  up  the  biography  here  and  there,  so  as  to  give  the  best  idey 
I  may  of  my  friend's  character.  At  this  time — he  is  out  of  the 
(country  just  now,  and  besides,  if  he  saw  his  own  likeness  staring 
him  in  the  face,  I  am  coiifiih'iit  he  woidd  not  know  it — Mr.  Philip, 


l(k.  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

in  some  things,  was  as  obstinate  as  a  mule,  and  in  others  as  weak 
as  a  woman.  He  had  a  childish  sensibility  for  what  was  tender, 
helpless,  pretty,  or  pathetic  ;  and  a  mighty  scorn  of  imposture, 
wherever  he  found  it.  He  had  many  good  purposes,  which  were 
often  very  vacillating,  and  were  but  seldom  performed.  He  had  a 
vast  number  of  evil  habits,  whereof,  you  know,  idleness  is  said  to 
be  the  root.  Many  of  these  evil  propensities  he  coaxed  and  cuddled 
with  much  care ;  and  though  he  roared  out  peccavi  most  frankly 
when  charged  witli  his  sins,  this  criminal  would  foil  to  peccation 
very  soon  after  promising  amendment.  What  he  liked  he  would 
have.  What  he  disliked  he  could  with  the  greatest  difficulty  be 
found  to  do.  He  liked  good  dinners,  good  wine,  good  horses,  good 
clothes,  and  late  hours ;  and  in  all  these  comforts  of  life  (or  any 
otliers  which  he  fancied,  or  which  were  within  his  means)  he 
indulged  himself  with  perfect  freedom.  He  hated  hypocrisy  on  his 
own  part,  and  hypocrites  in  general.  He  said  everything  that  came 
into  his  mind  about  things  and  people ;  and,  of  course,  was  often 
wrong  and  often  prejudiced,  and  often  occasioned  howls  of  indig- 
nation or  malignant  whispers  of  hatred  by  his  free  speaking.  He 
believed  everything  that  was  said  to  him  until  his  informant  had 
misled  him  once  or  twice,  after  which  he  would  believe  nothing. 
And  here  you  will  see  that  his  impetuous  credulity  was  as  absurd  as 
the  subsequent  obstinacy  of  his  unbelief.  My  dear  young  friend, 
the  profitable  way  in  life  is  the  middle  way.  Don't  quite  believe 
anybody,  for  he  may  mislead  you ;  neither  disbelieve  him,  for  that 
is  imcomplimentary  to  your  friend.  Black  is  not  so  very  black  ; 
and  as  for  white,  hon  Bieu  I  in  our  climate  what  paint  will  remain 
white  Ions'?  If  Philip  was  self-indulgent,  I  suppose  other  people 
are  self-indulgent  likewise  :  and  besides,  you  know,  your  faultless 
heroes  have  ever  so  long  gone  out  of  foshion.  To  be  young,  to  be 
good-looking,  to  be  healthy,  to  be  hungry  three  times  a  day,  to  have 
plenty  of  money,  a  great  alacrity  of  sleeping,  and  nothing  to  do — 
all  these,  I  daresay,  are  very  dangerous  temptations  to  a  man,  but 
I  think  I  know  some  who  would  like  to  undergo  the  dangers  of  the 
trial.  Suppose  there  be  holidays  :  is  there  not  work-time  too  1 
Suppose  to-day  is  feast-day  :  may  not  tears  and  repentance  come 
to-morrow  1  Such  times  are  in  store  for  Master  Phil,  and  so  please 
to  let  him  have  rest  and  comfort  for  a  chapter  or  two. 


CHAPTER    VII 

IMPLETUR   VETERIS  BACCHI 

THAT  time,  that  merry  time,  of  Brandon's,  of  Bohemia,  of 
oysters,  of  idleness,  of  smoking,  of  song  at  night  and  profuse 
soda-water  in  the  morning,  of  a  pillow,  lonely  ami  bachelor 
it  is  true,  but  with  few  cares  for  bedfellows,  of  plenteous  pocket- 
money,  of  ease  for  to-day  and  little  heed  for  to-morrow,  was  often 
remembered  by  Philip  in  after  days.  Mr.  Phil's  views  of  life  were 
not  very  exalted,  were  they?  The  fruits  of  this  world,  which  he 
devoured  with  such  gusto,  I  must  own  were  of  the  common  kitchen- 
garden  sort ;  and  the  lazy  rogue's  ambition  went  no  farther  than  to 
stroll  along  the  sunshiny  wall,  eat  liis  fill,  and  then  repose  comfort- 
ably in  the  arbour  under  the  arched  vine.  Why  did  Phil's  mother's 
parents  leave  her  thirty  thousand  ])ounds  ?  I  daresay  some  mis- 
guided people  would  be  glad  to  do  as  much  for  their  sons  ;  but,  if 
I  have  ten,  I  am  determined  they  shall  either  have  a  hundred 
thousand  apiece,  or  else  bare  bread  and  cheese.  "  Man  was  made 
to  labour,  and  to  be  lazy,"  Phil  would  affirm  with  his  usual  energy 
of  expression.  "  When  the  Indian  warrior  goes  on  the  hunting 
path,  he  is  sober,  active,  indomitable.  No  dangers  fright  him,  and 
no  labours  tire.  He  endures  the  cold  of  the  winter ;  he  couches  on 
the  forest  leaves ;  he  subsists  on  frugal  roots  or  the  casual  spoil  of 
his  bow.  When  he  returns  to  his  village,  he  gorges  to  repletion  ; 
he  sleeps,  i)erhaj)S,  to  excess.  When  the  game  is  devoured,  and 
the  fire-water  exliausted,  again  he  sallies  forth  into  tlie  wilderness ; 
he  out-climbs  the  'possum  and  he  throttles  the  bear.  I  am  the 
Indian:  and  this  'Haunt'  is  my  wigwam!  JSarbara  my  squaw, 
bring  me  oysters  ;  bring  me  a  jug  of  the  frothing  ])lack  beer  of  the 
pale-faces,  or  I  will  hang  up  tliy  scalp  on  my  tent-pole  ! "  And 
old  Barbara,  the  good  old  attendant  of  this  "  Haunt "  of  Bandits, 
would  say,  "  Law,  Mr.  Philip,  how  you  do  go  on,  to  be  sure  ! " 
Wliere  is  the  ''Haunt"  now?  and  where  are  the  merry  men  all 
wlio  there  assembled  ?  The  sign  is  down  ;  the  song  is  silent ;  the 
sand  is  swept  from  the  floor ;  the  pipes  are  broken,  and  the  ashes 
are  scattered. 

A  little  more  gossip  ;il)out  liis  merry  days,  and  we  have  done. 


166  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

He,  Philip,  was  called  to  the  bar  in  due  course,  and  at  his  call- 
supper  we  asse  milled  a  dozen  of  his  elderly  and  youthful  friends. 
The  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings  were  given  up  to  him  for 
this  day.  Mr.  Van  John,  I  think,  was  away  attending  a  steeple- 
chase ;  but  Mr.  Cassidy  was  with  us,  and  several  of  Philip's  ac- 
quaintances of  school,  college,  and  the  world.  There  was  Philip's 
father,  and  Philip's  Uncle  Twysden,  and  I,  Phil's  revered  and 
respectable  school  senior,  and  others  of  our  ancient  seminary.  There 
was  Burroughs,  the  second  wrangler  of  his  year,  great  in  metaphysics, 
greater  with  the  knife  and  fork.  There  was  Stack])ole,  Eblana's 
favourite  child — the  glutton  of  all  learning,  the  master  of  many 
languages,  who  stuttered  and  blushed  when  he  spoke  his  own. 
There  was  Pinkerton,  who,  albeit  an  ignoramus  at  the  university, 
was  already  winning  prodigious  triumphs  at  the  Parliamentary  bar, 
and  investing  in  Consols  to  the  admiration  of  all  his  contemporaries. 
There  was  Rosebury  the  beautiful,  the  Mayfair  pet  and  delight  of 
Alraack's,  the  cards  on  whose  mantelpiece  made  all  men  open  the 
eyes  of  wonder,  and  some  of  us  dart  the  scowl  of  envy.  There  was 
my  Lord  Egham,  Lord  Ascot's  noble  son.  There  was  Tom  Dale, 
who,  having  carried  on  his  university  career  too  splendidly,  had 
come  to  grief  in  the  midst  of  it,  and  was  now  meekly  earning  his 
bread  in  the  reporters'  gallery,  alongside  of  Cassidy.  There  was 
Macbride,  who,  having  thrown  up  his  fellowship  and  married  his 
cousin,  was  now  doing  a  brave  battle  with  poverty,  and  making 
literature  feed  him  until  law  should  reward  him  more  splendidly. 
There  was  Haythorn,  the  country  gentleman,  who  ever  remembered 
his  old  college  chums,  and  kept  the  memory  of  that  friendship  up 
by  constant  reminders  of  pheasants  and  game  in  the  season.  There 
were  Rahy  and  Maynard  from  the  Guards'  Club  (Maynard  sleeps 
now  under  Crimean  snows),  who  preferred  arms  to  the  toga ;  but 
carried  into  their  mihtary  life  the  love  of  their  old  books,  the 
affection  of  their  old  friends.  Most  of  these  must  be  mute  person- 
ages in  our  little  drama.  Could  any  chronicler  remember  the  talk 
of  all  of  them  1 

Several  of  the  guests  present  were  members  of  the  Inn  of  Court 
(the  Upper  Teuiple),  which  had  conferred  on  Philip  the  degree  of 
Barrister-at-Law.  He  had  dined  in  his  wig  and  gown  (Blackmore's 
wig  and  gown)  in  the  inn-hall  that  day,  in  company  with  other 
members  of  his  inn ;  and,  diiuier  over,  we  adjourned  to  Phil's 
chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  where  a  dessert  was  served,  to 
which  Mr.  Firmin's  friends  were  convoked. 

The  wines  came  from  Dr.  Firmin's  cellar.  His  servants  were 
in  attendance  to  wait  upon  the  company.  Father  and  son  both 
loved  splendid  hospitalities,  and,  so  far  as  creature  comforts  went. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     l67 

Philip's  feast  was  richly  provided.  "  A  supper,  I  love  a  supper  of 
all  things !  And  in  order  that  I  might  enjoy  yours,  I  only  took  a 
single  mutton-chop  for  dinner ! "  cried  Mr.  Twysden,  as  he  greeted 
Philip.  Indeed,  we  found  him,  as  we  arrived  from  Hall,  already 
in  the  chambers,  and  eating  the  young  barrister's  dessert.  "  He's 
been  here  ever  so  long,"  says  Mr.  Brice,  who  officiated  as  butler, 
"pegging  away  at  the  olives  and  macaroons.  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
he  has  pocketed  some."  There  was  small  respect  on  the  part  of 
Brice  for  Mr.  Twysden,  whom  tlie  wortliy  butler  frankly  pronounced 
to  be  a  stingy  'umbug.  Meanwhile,  Talbot  believed  that  the  old 
man  respected  him,  and  always  conversed  with  Brice,  and  treated 
him  witli  a  cheerful  cordiality. 

The  outer  Philistines  quickly  arrived,  and  but  that  the  wine 
and  men  were  older,  one  might  have  fancied  oneself  at  a  college 
wine-party.  Mr.  Twysden  talked  for  the  whole  company.  He 
was  radiant.  He  felt  himself  in  high  spirits.  He  did  the  honours 
of  Philip's  table.  Indeed,  no  man  was  more  hospitable  with  other 
folks'  wine.  Philip  himself  was  silent  and  nervous.  I  asked  him 
if  the  awful  ceremony,  which  he  had  just  undergone,  was  weighing 
on  his  mind  ] 

He  was  looking  rather  anxiously  towards  the  door ;  and, 
knowing  somewhat  of  the  state  of  affairs  at  home,  I  thought  that 
probably  he  and  his  father  had  had  one  of  the  disputes  which  of 
late  days  had  become  so  frequent  between  them. 

The  company  were  nearly  all  assembled  and  busy  with  their 
talk,  and  drinking  the  Doctor's  excellent  claret,  when  Brice  entering, 
announced  Dr.  Firmin  and  Mr.  Tufton  Hmit. 

"  Hang  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt ! "  Philip  was  going  to  say ;  but  he 
started  up,  went  forward  to  his  father,  and  greeted  him  very 
respectfully.  He  then  gave  a  bow  to  tlie  gentleman  introduced 
as  Mr.  Hunt;  and  they  found  places  at  the  table,  the  Doctor 
taking  his  with  his  usual  handsome  grace. 

The  conversation,  which  had  been  pretty  brisk  until  Dr.  Firmin 
came,  drooped  a  little  after  liis  appearance.  "We  had  an  awful 
row  two  days  ago,"  Philip  whispered  to  me.  "We  shook  hands 
and  are  reconciled,  as  you  see.  He  won't  stay  long.  He  will  be 
sent  for  in  half-an-liour  or  so.  He  will  say  he  has  been  sent  for 
by  a  duchess,  and  go  and  have  tea  at  the  club." 

Dr.  Firmin  bowed,  and  smiled  sadly  at  me,  as  Pliilip  was  speak- 
ing. I  <laresay  I  blushed  somewhat,  and  felt  as  if  tlie  Doctor  knew 
what  his  son  was  saying  to  me.  He  jiresently  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion witli  Lord  Egham  :  he  hoped  his  good  father  was  well  1 

"  You  keep  him  so.  Doctor.  You  don't  give  a  fellow  a  chance," 
says  the  young  lord. 


168  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Pass  the  hottle,  you  young  men  !  Hey  !  We  intend  to  see 
you  all  out !  "  cries  Talbot  Twysden,  on  pleasure  bent  and  of  the 
frugal  mind. 

"  Well  said,  sir,"  says  the  stranger  introduced  as  Mr.  Hunt ; 
"  and  right  good  wine.  Ha,  Firmin  !  I  think  I  know  the  tap  !  " 
and  he  smacked  his  lips  over  the  claret.  "  It's  your  twenty-five, 
and  no  mistake." 

"  The  red-nosed  individual  seems  a  connoisseur,"  whispered 
Rosebury  at  my  side. 

The  stranger's  nose,  indeed,  was  somewhat  rosy.  And  to  this 
I  may  add  that  his  clothes  were  black,  his  face  pale,  and  not  well 
shorn,  liis  white  neckcloth  dingy,  and  his  eyes  bloodshot. 

"  He  looks  as  if  he  had  gone  to  bed  in  his  clothes,  and  carries 
a  plentiful  flue  about  his  person.  Who  is  your  father's  esteemed 
friend  1 "  continues  the  wag,  in  un  under  voice. 

"You  heard  his  name,  Rosebury,"  says  the  young  barrister 
gloomily. 

"I  should  suggest  that  your  father  is  in  difficulties,  and  attended 
by  an  officer  of  the  Sheriff  of  London,  or  perhaps  subject  to  mental 
aberration,  and  placed  under  the  control  of  a  keeper." 

"  Leave  me  alone,  do  !  "  groaned  Philip.  And  liere  Twysden, 
wlio  was  longing  for  an  opportunity  to  make  a  speech,  bounced  up 
from  his  chair,  and  stopped  the  facetious  barrister's  further  remarks 
by  his  own  eloquence.  His  discourse  was  in  praise  of  Philip,  the 
new-made  barrister.  "  What !  if  no  one  else  will  give  that  toast, 
your  uncle  will,  and  many  a  heartfelt  blessing  go  with  you  too, 
my  boy  !  "  cried  the  little  man.  He  was  prodigal  of  benedictions. 
He  dashed  aside  the  tear-drop  of  emotion.  He  spoke  with  perfect 
fluency,  and  for  a  considerable  period.  He  really  made  a  good 
speech,  and  was  greeted  with  deserved  cheers  when  at  length  he 
sat  down. 

Phil  stammered  a  few  Avords  in  reply  to  his  uncle's  voluble 
compliments  ;  and  then  Lord  Ascot,  a  young  nobleman  of  mucli 
familiar  humour,  proposed  Pliil's  fiither,  his  health,  and  song.  The 
physician  made  a  neat  speech  from  behind  his  ruffled  shirt.  He 
was  agitated  Ijy  tlie  tender  feelings  of  a  paternal  heart,  he  said, 
glancing  benignly  at  Phil,  who  was  cracking  filberts.  To  see  his 
son  happy ;  to  see  him  surrounded  by  such  friends ;  to  know  him 
embarked  this  day  in  a  profession  which  gave  the  greatest  scope 
for  talents,  the  noblest  reward  for  industry,  was  a  })roud  and  happy 
moment  to  him,  Dr.  Firmin.  What  had  the  poet  observed?  "  In- 
genuas  didicisse  fideliter  artes  "  (hear,  hear  !)  "  emollit  mores," — 
yes,  "emollit  mores."  He  drank  a  bumper  to  the  young  barrister 
(he  waved  his  ring,  with  a  thimbleful  of  wine  in  his  glass).     He 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      I69 

pledged  the  young  friends  whom  he  siiw  assembled  to  cheer  his 
son  on  his  onward  path.  He  thanked  them  with  a  father's  heart ! 
He  passed  his  emerald  ring  across  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  and 
lifted  them  to  the  ceiling,  from  which  quarter  he  requested  a  bless- 
ing on  his  boy.  As  though  "spirits"  approved  of  his  invocation, 
immense  thumps  came  from  above,  along  with  the  plaudits  wliicli 
saluted  the  Doctor's  speech  from  the  gentlemen  round  the  taljle. 
But  the  upper  thumps  were  derisory,  and  came  frona  Mr.  Butters, 
of  tiie  third  floor,  who  chose  this  metliod  of  mocking  our  harmless 
little  festivities. 

I  think  these  cheers  from  the  facetious  Buffers,  though  meant 
in  scorn  of  our  party,  served  to  enliven  it  and  make  us  laugh. 
Spite  of  all  the  talking,  we  were  dull ;  and  I  could  not  but  allow 
tlie  force  of  my  neighbour's  remark,  that  we  were  sat  upon  and 
smothered  by  the  old  men.  One  or  two  of  the  younger  gentlemen 
chafed  at  the  licence  for  tobacco-smoking  not  being  yet  accorded. 
But  Philip  interdicted  this  amusement  as  yet. 

"Don't,"  he  said;  "my  father  don't  like  it.  He  has  to  see 
patients  to-night ;  and  they  can't  bear  the  smell  of  tobacco  by  their 
bedsides." 

The  impatient  youths  waited  witli  their  cigar-cases  by  tlieir 
sides.  They  longed  for  the  withdrawal  of  the  obstacle  to  their 
happiness. 

"He  won't  go,  I  tell  you.  He'll  be  sent  for,"  growled  Philip 
to  me. 

The  Doctor  was  engaged  in  conversation  to  the  right  and  left 
of  him,  and  seemed  not  to  think  of  a  move.  But,  sure  enough,  at 
a  few  minutes  after  ten  o'clock.  Dr.  Firmin's  footman  entered  tlie 
room  witli  a  note,  which  Firmin  opened  and  read,  as  Philip  looked 
at  me  with  a  grim  humour  in  his  face.  I  tliink  Phil's  father  knew 
that  we  knew  he  was  acting.  However,  he  went  through  the 
comedy  quite  gravely. 

"A  physician's  time  is  not  his  own,"  he  said,  shaking  his  hand- 
some melancholy  head.  "  Good-bye,  my  dear  Lord  !  Pray  re- 
member me  at  home  !  Good-night,  Philip  my  boy,  and  good  speed 
to  you  in  your  career  !     Pray,  pray  don't  move." 

And  he  is  gone,  waving  the  fair  hand  and  the  broad-brimmed 
hat,  with  the  beautiful  white  lining.  Phil  conducted  him  to  the 
door,  and  heaved  a  sigh  as  it  closed  upon  his  father — a  sigh  of 
relief,  I  think,  that  he  was  gone. 

"Exit  Governor.  What's  the  Latin  for  Governor?"  says  Lord 
Egham,  who  possessed  much  native  humour,  hut  not  very  i)rofound 
scholarship.  "A  most  venerable  old  parent,  Firmin.  That  liat 
and  appearance  would  (•oimiiaiid  any  sum  oi'  money." 


170  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"Excuse  me,"  lisps  Rosebury,  "hut  why  didn't  he  take  his 
elderly  friend  with  him — the  dilapidated  clerical  gentleman  who  is 
drinking  claret  so  freely  1  And  also,  why  did  he  not  remove  your 
avuncular  orator  ?  Mr.  Twysden,  your  interesting  young  neophyte 
has  provided  us  with  an  excellent  specimen  of  the  cheerful  produce 
of  the  Gascon  grape." 

"Well,  then,  now  the  old  gentleman  is  gone,  let  us  pass  the 
bottle  and  make  a  night  of  it.  Hey,  my  Lord  1 "  cries  Twysden. 
"  Philip,  your  claret  is  good !  I  say,  do  you  remember  some 
Chateau  Margaux  I  had,  which  Winton  liked  so  1  It  must  be  good 
if  he  praised  it,  I  can  tell  you.  I  imported  it  myself,  and  gave  him 
the  address  of  the  Bordeaux  merchant ;  and  he  said  he  had  seldom 
tasted  any  like  it.  Those  were  his  very  words.  I  must  get  you 
fellows  to  come  and  taste  it  some  day." 

"  Some  day  !  What  day  1  Name  it,  generous  Amphitryon  !  " 
cries  Rosebury. 

"  Some  day  at  seven  o'clock.  With  a  plain  quiet  dinner — a 
clear  soup,  a  bit  of  fish,  a  couple  of  little  entrdes,  and  a  nice  little 
roast.  That's  my  kind  of  dinner.  And  we'll  taste  that  claret, 
young  men.  It  is  not  a  heavy  wine.  It  is  not  a  first-class  wine. 
I  don't  mean  even  to  say  it  is  a  dear  wine,  but  it  has  a  bouquet 
and  a  pureness.     What,  you  will  smoke,  you  fellows  1 " 

"  We  will  do  it,  Mr.  Twysden.  Better  do  as  the  rest  of  us  do. 
Try  one  of  these." 

The  little  7nan  accepts  the  proff'ered  cigar  from  the  young  noble- 
man's box,  lights  it,  hems  and  hawks,  and  lapses  into  silence. 

"  I  thought  that  would  do  for  him,"  murmurs  the  facetious 
Egham.  "It  is  strong  enough  to  blow  his  old  head  off",  and  I  wish 
it  would.  That  cigar,"  he  continues,  "was  given  to  my  fiither  by 
the  Duke  of  Medina  Sidonia,  who  had  it  out  of  the  Queen  of  Spain's 
own  box.  She  smokes  a  good  deal,  but  naturally  likes  'em  mild. 
I  can  give  you  a  stronger  one." 

"  Oh  no.  I  daresay  this  is  very  fine.  Thank  you ! "  says 
poor  Talbot. 

"Leave  him  alone,  can't  you!"  says  Philip.  "Don't  make  a 
fool  of  him  before  the  young  men,  Egham." 

Philip  still  looked  very  dismal  in  the  midst  of  the  festivity. 
He  was  thinking  of  his  differences  with  his  absent  parent. 

We  might  all  have  been  easily  consoled,  if  the  Doctor  had  taken 
away  with  him  the  elderly  companion  whom  he  had  introduced  to 
Phil's  feast.  He  could  not  have  been  very  welcome  to  our  host, 
for  Phil  scowled  at  his  guest,  and  whispered,  "  Hang  Hunt ! "  to 
his  neighbour. 

"  Hancf  Hunt " — the  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  was  his  name — 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     171 

was  in  nowise  disconcerted  by  the  coolness  of  his  reception.  He 
drank  his  wine  very  freely ;  addressed  himself  to  his  neighbours 
aftal)ly  :  and  called  out  a  loud  "  Hear,  hear ! "  to  Twysden,  when 
that  gentleman  announced  his  intention  of  making  a  night  of  it. 
As  Mr.  Hunt  warmed  with  wine  he  spoke  to  the  table.  He  talked 
a  great  deal  about  the  Ringwood  family,  had  been  very  intimate  at 
Wingate,  in  old  days,  as  he  tokl  Mr.  Twysden,  and  an  intimate 
friend  of  poor  Cinqbars,  Lord  Ringwood's  only  son.  Now,  the 
memory  of  tlie  late  Lord  Cinqbars  was  not  an  agreeable  recollec- 
tion to  the  relative  of  the  house  of  Ringwood.  He  was  in  life  a 
dissipated  and  disreputable  young  lord.  His  name  was  seldom 
mentioned  in  his  family ;  never  by  his  father,  with  whom  he  had 
had  many  quarrels. 

"You  know  I  introduced  Cinqbars  to  your  father,  Philip]" 
calls  out  the  dingy  clergyman. 

"  I  have  heard  you  mention  the  fact,"  says  Philip. 

"  They  met  at  a  wine  in  my  rooms  in  Corpus.  Brummell 
Firmin  we  used  to  call  your  father  in  those  days.  He  Avas  the 
greatest  buck  in  the  university — always  a  dressy  man,  kept  hunters, 
gave  the  best  dinners  in  Cambridge.  We  were  a  wild  set.  There 
was  Cinqbars,  Brand  Firmin,  Beryl,  Toplady,  about  a  dozen  of  us, 
almost  all  noblemen  or  fellow-commoners — fellows  who  all  kept 
their  horses  and  had  their  private  servants." 

This  speech  was  addressed  to  the  comjjany,  who  yet  did  not 
seem  much  edified  by  the  college  recollections  of  the  dingy  elderly 
man. 

"  Almost  all  Trinity  men,  sir !  We  dined  with  eacli  other 
week  about.  Many  of  them  had  their  tandems.  Desperate  fellow 
across  country  your  father  was.  And — but  we  won't  tell  tales  out 
of  school,  hey  !  " 

"  No ;  please  don't,  sir,"  said  Philip,  clonching  his  fists,  and 
biting  his  lips.  The  shabby  ill-l)red  swaggering  man  was  eating 
Philip's  salt ;  Phil's  lordly  ideas  of  liospitaHty  did  not  allow  him 
to  quarrel  with  the  guest  under  his  tent. 

"  Wiien  he  went  out  in  medicine,  we  were  all  of  us  astonished. 
Why,  sir.  Brand  Firmin,  at  one  time,  was  the  greatest  swell  in  the 
university,"  continued  Mr.  Hunt,  "and  such  a  ])lucky  fellow!  So 
was  poor  Cinqbars,  though  he  had  no  stamina.  He,  I,  and  Firmin, 
fought  for  twenty  minutes  before  Caius  Gate  with  about  twenty 
bargemen,  and  you  should  have  seen  your  father  hit  out !  I  was 
a  handy  one  in  those  days,  too,  with  my  fingers.  We  learned  the 
noble  art  of  self-defence  in  my  time,  young  gentlemen  !  We  used 
to  have  Clover,  the  boxer,  down  from  London,  who  gave  us  lessons. 
Cinqbars  was   a   pretty  sparrer — but  no   stamina.     Brantly  killed 


172  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

him,  sir — brandy  killeil  liiiii !  Why,  this  is  some  of  your  governor's 
wine  !  He  and  I  have  been  drinking  it  to-night  in  Parr  Street, 
and  talking  over  old  times." 

"  I  am  glad,  sir,  you  found  the  wine  to  your  taste,"  says 
Philip  gravely. 

"  I  did,  Philip  my  boy  !  And  when  your  father  said  he  was 
coming  to  your  wine,  I  said  I'd  come  too." 

"  I  wish  somebody  would  fling  him  out  of  window,"  groaned 
Pliilip. 

"A  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  senior,"  whispered 
Rosebury  to  me.  "  I  read  billiards,  Boulogne,  gambling-houses 
in  his  noble  lineaments.  Has  he  long  adorned  your  family 
circle,  Firmin?" 

"I  found  him  at  home  about  a  month  ago,  in  my  father's 
anteroom,  in  the  same  clothes,  with  a  pair  of  mangy  moustaches 
on  his  face ;  and  he  has  been  at  our  house  every  day  since." 

"  Echappd  de  Toulon,"  says  Rosebury  blandly,  looking  towards 
the  stranger.  "  Cela  se  voit.  Homme  parfaitement  distiugu^. 
You  are  quite  riglit,  sir.  I  was  speaking  of  you ;  and  asking 
our  friend  Philip  wliere  it  was  I  had  the  honour  of  meeting  you 
abroad  last  year?  This  courtesy,"  he  gently  added,  "will  disarm 
tigers." 

"  I  was  abroad,  sir,  last  year,"  said  the  other,  nodding  his  head. 

"  Three  to  one  he  was  in  Boulogne  gaol,  or  perhaps  officiating 
chaplain  at  a  gambling-house.  Stop,  I  have  if?  Baden  Baden, 
sir?" 

"I  was  there,  safe  enough,"  says  the  clergyman.  "It  is  a 
very  pretty  place ;  but  the  air  of  the  Apres  kills  you.  Ha !  ha ! 
Your  father  used  to  shake  his  elbow  when  he  was  a  youngster 
too,  Philip  !  I  can't  help  calling  you  Philip.  I  have  known  your 
father  these  thirty  years.      We  were  college  chums,  you  know." 

"Ah  !  what  would  I  give,"  sighs  Rosebury,  "if  that  venerable 
being  would  but  address  me  by  my  Christian  name !  Philip,  do 
something  to  make  your  party  go.  The  old  gentlemen  are  throt- 
tling it.  Sing  something,  somebody  !  or  let  us  drown  our  melan- 
choly in  wine.  You  expressed  your  approbation  of  this  claret, 
sir,  and  claimed  a  previous  acquaintance  with  it  ? " 

"  I've  drunk  two  dozen  of  it  in  the  last  month,"  says  Mr. 
Hunt,  with  a  grin. 

"  Two  dozen  and  four,  sir,"  remarks  Mr.  Brice,  putting  a  fresh 
bottle  on  the  table. 

"  Well  said,  Brice  !  I  make  tlie  Firmin  Arms  my  headquarters; 
and  honour  the  landlord  with  a  good  deal  of  my  company,"  remarks 
Mr.  Hunt. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      173 

"  Tlie  Firniin  Arms  is  honoured  by  having  such  supporters  ! " 
says  Phil,  glaring,  and  with  a  heaving  chest.  At  each  moment 
he  was  growing  more  and  more  angry  witli  that  parson. 

At  a  certain  stage  of  conviviality  Phil  was  fond  of  talking  of 
his  pedigree ;  and  though  a  professor  of  very  liberal  opinions,  was 
not  a  little  proud  of  some  of  his  ancestors. 

"  Oh,  come,  I  say  !     Sink  the  lieraldry  !  "  cries  Lord  Egham. 

"  I  am  very  sorry !  I  would  do  anything  to  oblige  you,  but 
I  can't  help  being  a  gentleman  !  "  growls  Philip. 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  if  you  intend  to  come  King  Richard  III.  over 
us "  breaks  out  my  Lord. 

"  Egham  !  your  ancestors  were  sweeping  counters  when  mine 
stood  by  King  Ricliard  in  that  righteous  fight ! "  shouts  Philip. 

That  monarch  had  conferred  lands  upon  the  Ringwood  family. 
Richard  III.  was  Philip's  battle-horse ;  when  he  trotted  it  after 
dinner  he  was  splendid  in  his  chivalry. 

"  Oh,  I  say  !  If  you  are  to  saddle  White  Surrey,  fight  Bos- 
worth  Field,  and  murder  the  kids  in  the  Tower  ! "  continues  Lord 
Egham. 

"  Serve  the  little  brutes  right !  "  roars  Phil.  "  They  were  no 
more  heirs  of  the  blood  royal  of  England  than " 

"  I  daresay  !  Only  I'd  rather  have  a  song  now  the  old  boy 
is  gone.  I  say,  you  fellows,  chant  something,  do  now  !  Bar  all 
this  row  about  Bosworth  Field  and  Richard  the  Third  !  Always 
does  it  when  he's  beer  on  board — always  does  it,  give  you  my 
honour  !  "  whispers  the  young  nobleman  to  his  neighbour. 

"  I  am  a  fool !  I  am  a  fool !  "  cries  Phil,  smacking  his  forehead. 
"  There  are  moments  when  the  wrongs  of  my  race  will  intervene. 
It's  not  your  fault,  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-'im,  that  you  alluded  to 
my  arms  in  a  derisive  manner.  I  bear  you  no  malice  !  Nay,  I 
ask  your  pardon  !     Nay,  I  pledge  you  in  this  claret,  wliicli  is  good, 

though  it's  my  governor's.      In  our  house  everything  isn't,  hum 

Bosh  !  it's  twenty-five  claret,  sir  !  Egham's  father  gave  him  a 
pipe  of  it  for  saving  a  life  which  might  be  better  spent ;  and  I  be- 
lieve the  apothecary  would  have  pulled  you  through,  Egham,  just 
as  well  as  my  governor.  But  the  wine's  good  !  Good  !  Brice, 
some  more  claret !  A  song  !  Who  spoke  of  a  song  ?  Warble  us 
somctliing,  Tom  Dale  !     A  song,  a  song,  a  song  !  " 

Whereupon  the  exquisite  ditty  of  "Moonlight  on  the  Tiles" 
wils  given  by  Tom  Dale  Avith  all  his  accustomed  humour.  Then 
politeness  demanded  that  our  liost  should  sing  one  of  liis  songs,  and 
as  I  have  heard  him  jjcrform  it  many  times,  I  liave  the  j)rivilege 
of  here  reprinting  it :  ])remising  that  tlie  tune  and  chorus  were 
taken  from  a  German  song-book,  which  used  to  delight  us  melodious 


174  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

youth  in  bygone  days.     PhiUip  accordingly  lifted  up  his  great  voice 
and  sang : — 

DOCTOR   LUTHER. 

"  For  the  souls'  edification 
Of  this  decent  congregation, 
Worthy  people  !  by  your  grant, 
I  will  sing  a  holy  chant, 

I  will  sing  a  holy  chant, 
If  the  ditty  sound  but  oddly, 
'Twas  a  father  wise  and  godly, 
Sang  it  so  long  ago. 

Then  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang  : 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

He  by  custom  patriarchal, 
Loved  to  see  the  beaker  sparkle, 
And  he  thought  the  wine  improved, 
Tasted  by  the  wife  he  loved. 

By  the  kindly  lips  he  loved. 
Friends  !  I  wish  this  custom  pious 
Duly  were  adopted  by  us, 
To  combine  love,  song,  winej; 

And  sing  as  Doctor  Luther  sang. 

As  Doctor  Luther  sang  : 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long. 

Who  refuses  this  our  credo, 
And  demurs  to  drink  as  we  do. 
Were  he  holy  as  John  Knox, 
I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox. 

I'd  pronounce  him  heterodox, 
And  from  out  this  congregation, 
With  a  solemn  commination. 
Banish  quick  the  heretic. 

Who  would  not  sing  as  Luther  sang, 

As  Doctor  Lrither  sang  : 

Who  loves  not  wine,  woman,  and  song, 

He  is  a  fool  his  whole  life  long." 

The  reader's  humble  servant  was  older  than  most  of  the  party 
assembled  at  this  symposium,  which  may  have  taken  place  some 
score  of  years  back ;  but  as  I  listened  to  the  noise,  the  fresli 
laughter,  the  songs  remembered  out  of  old  university  days,  the 
talk  and  cai4  phrases  of  the  old  school  of  which  most  of  us  had 
been  disciples,  dear  me,  I  felt  quite  young  again,  and  when  certain 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     175 

knocks  came  to  the  door  about  midnight,  enjoyed  quite  a  refresh- 
ing pang  of  anxious  interest  for  a  moment,  deeming  the  proctors 
were  rapping,  having  heard  our  shouts  in  the  court  below.  The 
late  comer,  however,  was  only  a  tavern  waiter,  bearing  a  supper- 
tray  ;  and  we  were  free  to  speechify,  shout,  quarrel,  and  be  as 
young  as  we  liked,  with  nobody  to  find  fault,  except,  perchance, 
the  bencher  below,  who,  I  daresay,  was  kept  awake  with  our  noise. 

When  that  supper  arrived,  poor  Talbot  Twysden,  mIio  had 
come  so  far  to  enjoy  it,  was  not  in  a  state  to  partake  of  it.  Lord 
Egham's  cigar  had  proved  too  much  for  him ;  and  the  worthy 
gentleman  had  been  lying  on  a  sofa,  in  a  neighbouring  room,  for 
some  time  past,  in  a  state  of  hopeless  collapse.  He  had  told  us, 
whilst  yet  capable  of  speech,  what  a  love  and  regard  he  had  for 
Philip ;  but  between  him  and  Philip's  father  there  was  but  little 
love.  They  had  had  that  worst  and  most  irremediable  of  quarrels, 
a  difference  about  twopence-halfpenny  in  the  division  of  the  pro- 
perty of  their  late  father-in-law.  Firmin  still  thought  Twysden 
a  shabby  curmudgeon ;  and  Twysden  considered  Firmin  an  un- 
principled man.  When  Mrs.  Firmin  was  alive,  the  two  poor 
sisters  had  had  to  regulate  tneir  affections  by  the  marital  orders, 
and  to  be  warm,  cool,  moderate,  freezing  according  to  their 
husbands'  state  for  the  time  being.  I  wonder  are  there  many 
real  reconciliations  ?  Dear  Tomkins  and  I  are  reconciled,  I  know. 
We  have  met  and  dined  at  Jones's.  And  ah  !  how  fond  we  are 
of  each  other  !  Oh,  very  !  So  Avith  Firmin  and  Twysden.  They 
met,  and  shook  hands  with  perfect  animosity.  So  did  Twysden 
junior  and  Firmin  junior.  Young  Twysden  was  the  elder,  and 
thrashed  and  bullied  Phil  as  a  boy,  until  the  latter  arose  and 
pitched  his  cousin  downstairs.  Mentally,  they  were  always  kick- 
ing each  other  downstairs.  Well,  poor  Talbot  could  not  partake 
of  the  supper  when  it  came,  and  lay  in  a  piteous  state  on  the 
neighbouring  sofa  of  the  absent  Mr.  Van  John. 

Who  would  go  home  with  him,  where  his  wife  must  be  anxious 
about  him  1  I  agreed  to  convoy  him,  and  the  parson  said  he  was 
going  our  way,  and  would  accompany  us.  We  supported  this  senioi- 
through  the  Temple,  and  put  him  on  the  front  seat  of  a  cab.  The 
cigar  had  disgracefully  overcome  him  ;  and  any  lecturer  on  the  evils 
of  smoking  might  have  pointed  his  moral  on  the  heli)less  person  of 
this  wretched  gentleman. 

The  evening's  feasting  had  only  imparted  animation  to  Mr. 
Hunt,  and  occasioned  an  agreeable  (ihttndon  in  his  talk.  T  had  seen 
the  man  before  in  Dr.  Firmin's  house,  and  own  that  his  society 
was  almost  as  odious  to  me  as  to  the  Doctor's  son  Philip.  On  all 
subjects  and  persons,  Phil  was  accustomed  to  speak  his  mind  out  a 


176  THE    ADVENTUKES    OF    PHILIP 

great  deal  too  openly ;  and  Mr.  Hunt  had  been  an  object  of  special 
dislike  to  him  ever  since  he  had  known  Hunt.  I  tried  to  make  the 
best  of  the  matter.  Few  men  of  kindly  feeling  and  good  station  are 
without  a  dependant  or  two.  Men  start  together  in  the  race  of 
life  ;  and  Jack  wins,  and  Tom  falls  by  his  side.  The  successful  man 
succours  and  reaches  a  friendly  hand  to  the  unfortunate  competitor. 
Remembrance  of  early  times  gives  the  latter  a  sort  of  right  to  call 
on  his  luckier  comrade ;  and  a  man  finds  himself  pitying,  then 
enduring,  then  embracing  a  companion  for  whom,  in  old  days, 
perhaps,  he  never  had  any  regard  or  esteem.  A  prosperous 
man  ought  to  have  followers :  if  he  has  none,  he  has  a  liard 
heart. 

This  philosophising  was  all  very  well.  It  was  good  for  a  man 
not  to  desert  the  friends  of  his  boyhood.  But  to  live  with  such  a 
cad  as  that — with  that  creature,  low,  servile,  swaggering,  besotted 
— "  How  could  his  father,  wlio  had  fine  tastes,  and  loved  grand 
company,  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  ?  "  asked  Phil.  "  I  don't  know 
when  the  man  is  the  more  odious :  when  he  is  familiar,  or  when 
he  is  respectful ;  when  he  is  paying  compliments  to  my  father's 
guests  in  Parr  Street,  or  telling  hideous  old  stale  stories,  as  he  did 
at  my  call-supper." 

The  wine  of  which  Mr.  Hunt  freely  partook  on  that  occasion 
made  him,  as  I  have  said,  communicative.  "  Not  a  bad  fellow,  our 
host,"  he  remarked,  on  his  part,  when  we  came  away  together. 
"  Bumptious,  good-looking,  speaks  his  mind,  hates  me,  and  I  don't 
care.     He  must  be  well  to  do  in  the  world.  Master  Philip." 

I  said  I  hoped  and  tliought  so. 

"  Briunmell  Firmin  must  make  four  or  five  thousand  a  year.  He 
was  a  wild  fellow  in  my  time,  I  can  tell  you — in  the  days  of  the 
wild  Prince  and  Poins — stuck  at  nothing,  spent  his  own  money, 
ruined  himself,  fell  on  his  legs  somehow,  and  married  a  fortune. 
Some  of  us  have  not  been  so  lucky.  I  had  nobody  to  pay  my  debts. 
I  missed  my  fellowship  by  idling  and  dissipating  with  those  con- 
founded hats  and  silver-laced  gowns.  I  liked  good  company  in  those 
days — always  did  when  I  could  get  it.  If  you  were  to  write  my  ad- 
ventures, now,  you  would  have  to  tell  some  queer  stories.  I've  been 
everywhere  ;  I've  seen  high  and  low — 'specially  low.  I've  tried 
schoolmastering,  bear-leading,  newspapering,  America,  West  Indies. 
I've  been  in  every  city  in  Europe.  I  haven't  been  as  lucky  as 
Bi-ummell  Firmin.  He  rolls  in  his  coach,  he  does,  and  I  walk  in 
my  highlows.  Guineas  drop  into  his  palm  every  day,  and  are 
uncommonly  scarce  in  mine,  I  can  tell  you  ;  and  poor  old  Tufton 
Hunt  is  not  much  better  off  at  fifty  odd  than  he  was  when  he  was 
an   undergraduate  at  eighteen.     How  do  you  do,  old  gentleman? 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     177 

Air  do  you  good  1  Here  we  are  at  Beaunash  Street  :  hojie  you've 
got  the  key,  and  missis  won't  see  you."  A  large  butler,  too  well 
bred  to  express  astonishment  at  any  event  which  occurred  out  of 
doors,  opened  Mr.  Twysden's,  and  let  in  that  lamentable  gentleman. 
He  was  very  pale  and  solemn.  He  gasped  out  a  few  words,  in- 
timating his  intention  to  fix  a  day  to  ask  us  to  come  and  dine  soon, 
and  taste  that  wine  that  Winton  liked  so.  He  waved  an  unsteady 
hand  to  us.  If  Mrs.  Twysden  was  on  the  stairs  to  see  the  condi- 
tion of  her  lord,  I  hope  she  took  possession  of  the  candle.  Hunt 
grumbled  as  we  came  out :  "  He  might  have  offered  us  some  re- 
freshment after  bringing  him  all  that  way  home.  It's  only  half-past 
one.  There's  no  good  in  going  to  bed  so  soon  as  that.  Let  us  go  and 
have  a  drink  somewhere.  I  know  a  very  good  crib  close  by.  No, 
you  won't  1  I  say  "  (here  he  burst  into  a  laugh  which  startled  the 
sleeping  street),  "  I  know  what  you've  been  thinking  all  the  time  in 
tlie  cab.  You  are  a  swell, — you  are,  too  !  You  have  been  tliinking, 
'This  dreary  old  parson  will  try  and  borrow  money  from  me.'  But 
I  won't,  my  boy.  I've  got  a  banker.  Look  here  !  Fee,  faw,  fum. 
You  understand.  I  can  get  the  sovereigns  out  of  my  medical  swell 
in  Old  Parr  Street.  I  prescribe  bleeding  for  him — I  drew  him  to- 
night. He  is  a  very  kind  fellow,  Brummell  Firmin  is.  He  can't 
deny  such  a  dear  old  friend  anything.  Bless  him  !  "  And  as  he 
turned  away  to  some  midnight  haunt  of  his  own,  he  tossed  up  his 
hand  in  the  air.  I  heard  him  laughing  through  the  silent  street, 
and  Policeman  X,  tramping  on  his  beat,  turned  round  and  sus- 
jiiciously  eyed  him. 

Tlien  I  thought  of  Dr.  Firmin's  dark  melancholy  face  and  eyes. 
Was  a  benevolent  remembrance  of  old  times  the  bond  of  union 
between  these  men  ?  All  my  house  had  long  been  asleep,  when  I 
opened  and  gently  closed  my  house-door.  By  the  twinkling  night- 
lamp  I  could  dimly  see  child  and  mf)ther  softly  breathing.  Oli, 
blessed  they  on  whose  pillow  no  remorse  sits  !  Happy  you  who 
have  escaped  temptation ! 

I  may  liavc  hccu  encouraged  in  my  suspicions  of  tiie  dingy 
clergyman  l)y  Philips  own  surmises  regarding  liim,  which  were 
cxi)ressed  with  the  sjieakcr's  usual  candour.  "  The  fellow  calls  for 
what  he  likes  at  the  '  Firmin  Arms,' "  said  poor  Phil  ;  "  and  when 
my  father's  bigwigs  assemble,  I  hope  the  reverend  gentleman  dines 
with  them.  I  should  like  to  .see  him  hobnobbing  with  ohl  Bumpsher, 
or  slapping  the  Bishop  on  the  back.  He  lives  in  Sligo  Street, 
round  the  corner,  so  as  to  be  close  to  our  house  and  yet  preserve  liis 
own  elegant  independence.  Otherwise,  I  wonder  he  has  not  installed 
himself  in  Old  Parr  Street,  where  my  poor  mother's  bedroom  is 


178  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

vacant.  The  Doctor  does  not  care  to  use  that  room.  I  remember 
now  how  silent  they  were  when  together,  and  how  terrified  she 
always  seemed  before  him.  What  has  he  donel  I  know  of  one 
affair  in  his  early  life.  Does  this  Hunt  know  of  any  more  1  They 
have  been  accomplices  in  some  conspiracy,  sir ;  I  daresay  with 
that  young  Cinqbars^  of  whom  Hunt  is  for  ever  bragging :  the 
worthy  son  of  the  worthy  Ringwood.  I  say,  does  wickedness  run 
in  the  blood?  My  grandfathers,  I  have  heard,  were  honest  men. 
Perhaps  they  were  only  not  found  out ;  and  the  family  taint  will 
show  in  me  some  day.  There  are  times  when  I  feel  the  devil  so 
strong  witliin  me,  that  I  think  some  day  he  must  have  the  mastery. 
I'm  not  quite  bad  yet :  but  I  tremble  lest  I  should  go.  Suppose  I 
were  to  drown,  and  go  down  1  It's  not  a  jolly  thing,  Pendennis,  to 
have  such  a  father  as  mine.  Don't  humbug  me  with  your  charitable 
palliations  and  soothing  surmises.  You  put  me  in  mind  of  the 
world  then,  by  Jove,  you  do  !  I  laugh,  and  I  drink,  and  I  make 
merry,  and  sing,  and  smoke  endless  tobacco;  and  I  tell  you,  I 
always  feel  as  if  a  little  sword  was  dangling  over  my  skull  which 
will  fall  some  day  and  split  it.  Old  Parr  Street  is  mined,  sir, — 
mined  !  And  some  morning  we  shall  be  blown  into  blazes — into 
blazes,  sir ;  mark  my  words  !  That's  why  I'm  so  careless  and  so 
idle,  for  which  you  fellows  are  always  bothering  and  scolding  me. 
There's  no  use  in  settling  down  until  the  explosion  is  over,  don't 
you  see  1  Tiicedo  2)er  ignes  siqjpositos,  and,  by  George  !  sir,  I  feel 
my  boot-soles  already  scorching.  Poor  thing !  poor  mother "  (he 
apostrophised  his  mother's  picture  which  hung  in  the  room  where 
we  were  talking),  "  were  you  aware  of  the  secret,  and  was  it  the 
knowledge  of  that  which  made  your  poor  eyes  always  look  so 
frightened  1  She  was  always  fond  of  you.  Pen.  Do  you  remember 
how  pretty  and  graceful  she  used  to  look  as  she  lay  on  her  sofa 
upstairs,  or  smiled  out  of  her  carriage  as  she  kissed  her  hand  to  us 
boys  1  I  say,  what  if  a  woman  marries,  and  is  coaxed  and  wlieedled 
by  a  soft  tongue,  and  runs  off,  and  afterwards  finds  her  husband 
has  a  cloven  foot?" 

"  Ah,  Philip  !  " 

"  What  is  to  be  the  lot  of  the  son  of  such  a  man  1  Is  my 
hoof  cloven,  too  1 "  It  was  on  the  stove,  as  he  talked,  extended 
in  American  fashion.  "  Suppose  there's  no  escape  for  me,  and  I 
inherit  my  doom,  as  another  man  does  gout  or  consumption  1 
Knowing  this  fate,  what  is  the  use,  then,  of  doing  anything  in 
particular  1  I  tell  you,  sir,  the  whole  edifice  of  our  present  life  will 
crumble  in  and  smash."  (Here  he  flings  his  pipe  to  the  ground 
with  an  awful  shatter.)  "And  until  the  catastrophe  comes,  wliat 
on  earth  is  the  use  of  setting  to  work,  as  you  call  it  ?     You  might 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      179 

as  well  have  told  a  fellow,  at  Pompeii,  to  select  a  profession  the 
day  before  the  eruption." 

"  If  you  know  that  Vesuvius  is  going  to  burst  over  Pompeii," 
I  said,  somewhat  alarmed,  "why  not  go  to  Naples,  or  farther  if 
you  will  1 " 

"Were  there  not  men  in  the  sentry-boxes  at  the  city  gates," 
asked  Philip,  "  who  might  have  run,  and  yet  remained  to  be  burned 
there?  Suppose,  after  all,  tlie  doom  isn't  hanging  over  us,— and 
the  fear  of  it  is  only  a  nervous  terror  of  mine  1  Suppose  it  comes, 
and  I  survive  it  1  The  risk  of  the  game  gives  a  zest  to  it,  old  boy. 
Besides,  there  is  Honour :  and  Someone  Else  is  in  the  case,  from 
whom  a  man  could  not  part  in  an  hour  of  danger."  And  here  he 
blushed  a  fine  red,  heaved  a  great  sigh,  and  emptied  a  bumper 
of  claret. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

WILL  BE  PRONOUNCED   TO  BE  CYNICAL   BY 
THE  BENEVOLENT 

GENTLE  I'eaders  will  not,  I  trust,  think  the  worse  of  their 
most  obedient  humble  servant  for  the  confession  that  I 
talked  to  my  wife  on  my  return  home  regarding  Philip  and 
his  affairs.  When  I  choose  to  be  frank,  I  hope  no  man  can  be 
more  open  than  myself;  when  I  have  a  mind  to  be  quiet,  no  fish 
can  be  more  mute.  I  have  kept  secrets  so  ineffably,  that  I  have 
utterly  forgotten  them,  until  my  memory  was  refreshed  by  people 
who  also  knew  them.  But  what  was  the  use  of  hiding  this  one 
from  the  being  to  whom  I  open  all,  or  almost  all — say  all,  excepting 
just  one  or  two  of  the  closets  of  this  heart  1  So  I  say  to  her,  "  My 
love  ;  it  is  as  I  suspected.  Philip  and  his  cousin  Agnes  are  carrying 
on  together." 

"  Is  Agnes  the  pale  one,  or  the  vert/  pale  one  1 "  asks  the  joy  of 
my  existence. 

"  No,  the  elder  is  Blanche.  They  are  both  older  than  Mr. 
Firmin  :  but  Blanche  is  the  elder  of  the  two." 

"Well,  I  am  not  saying  anything  malicious,  or  contrary  to  the 
fact,  am  I,  sir  1 " 

No.  Only  I  know  by  her  looks,  when  another  lady's  name  is 
mentioned,  whether  my  wife  likes  her  or  not.  And  I  am  bound  to 
say,  though  this  statement  may  meet  with  a  denial,  that  her  counte- 
nance does  not  vouchsafe  smiles  at  the  mention  of  all  ladies'  names. 

"You  don't  go  to  the  house?  You  and  Mrs.  Twysden  have 
called  on  each  other,  and  there  the  matter  has  stopped  1  Oh,  I 
know  !  It  is  because  poor  Talbot  brags  so  about  his  v/ine,  and 
gives  such  abominable  stuff,  that  you  have  such  an  un-Ghristian 
feeling  for  him  !  " 

"  That  is  the  reason,  I  daresay,"  says  the  lady. 

"  No.  It  is  no  such  thing.  Though  you  do  know  sherry  from 
port,  I  believe  upon  my  conscience  you  do  not  avoid  the  Twysdens 
because  they  give  bad  wine.  Many  others  sin  in  that  way,  and  you 
forgive  them.  You  like  your  fellow-creatures  better  than  wine — 
some  fellow-creatures — and  you  dislike  some  fellow-creatures  worse 


I,A1RA  S    FinKSinK. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      181 

than  medicine.  You  swallow  them,  madam.  You  say  notliing,  but 
your  looks  are  dreadful.  You  make  wry  faces  :  and  when  you  have 
taken  them,  you  want  a  piece  of  sweetmeat  to  take  the  taste  out 
of  your  mouth." 

The  lady,  thus  wittily  addressed,  shrugs  her  lovely  shoulders. 
My  wife  exasperates  me  in  many  things :  in  getting  up  at  insane 
hours  to  go  to  early  church,  for  instance ;  in  looking  at  me  in  a 
particular  way  at  dinner,  when  I  am  about  to  eat  one  of  those 
entrees  which  Dr.  Goodenough  declares  disagree  with  me  ;  in  nothing 
more  than  in  that  obstinate  silence,  which  she  persists  in  main- 
taining sometimes  when  I  am  abusing  peoi^le,  whom  I  do  not  like, 
whom  she  does  not  like,  and  who  abuse  me.  Tiiis  reticence  makes 
me  wild.  What  confidence  can  there  be  between  a  man  and  his 
wife,  if  he  can't  say  to  her,  "  Confound  So-and-so,  I  hate  liim  ; "  or, 
"  What  a  prig  What-d'ye-call-'im  is  !  "  or,  "  What  a  l)loate(l  aristocrat 
Thingamy  has  become,  since  he  got  his  place  !  "  or  what  you  will '? 

"No,"  I  continue,  "I  know  why  you  hate  the  Twysdens,  Mrs. 
Pendemiis.  You  hate  them  because  they  move  in  a  world  which 
you  can  only  occasionally  visit.  You  envy  them  because  they  are 
hand-in-glove  with  the  great ;  because  they  possess  an  easy  grace, 
and  a  frank  and  noble  elegance  with  which  common  country-people 
and  apothecaries'  sons  are  not  endowed." 

"  My  dear  Arthur,  I  do  think  you  are  ashamed  of  being  an 
apothecary's  son  ;  you  talk  about  it  so  often,"  says  the  lady.  Which 
was  all  very  well :  but  you  see  she  was  not  answering  my  remarks 
about  tlie  Twysdens. 

"  You  are  right,  my  dear,"  I  say  then.  "  I  ought  not  to  be 
censorious,  being  myself  no  more  virtuous  than  my  neighbour." 

"  I  know  people  abuse  you,  Arthur ;  but  I  think  you  are  a 
very  good  sort  of  man,"  says  the  lady,  over  her  little  tea-tray. 

"And  so  are  the  Twysdens  very  good  people — very  nice,  artless, 
imselfish,  simple,  generous,  well-bred  people.  Mrs.  Twysden  is  all 
heart :  Twysden's  conversational  i)owers  are  remarkable  and  pleas- 
ing :  and  Philip  is  eminently  fortunate  in  getting  one  of  those 
charming  girls  for  a  wife." 

"  I've  no  patience  with  them,"  cries  my  wife,  losing  tliat  quality 
to  my  groat  satisfaction  :  for  then  I  knew  I  had  found  tiie  crack 
in  Machim  Pendemiis's  armour  of  steel,  and  had  smitten  her  in  a 
vulnerable  little  place. 

"  No  patience  with  tlicm  1     Quiet  ladylike  young  women  !  "  I  cry. 

"Ah,"  sighs  my  wife,  "what  have  tiiey  got  to  give  I'hilip  in 
return  for " 

"In  return  for  his  tliirty  tlmusand  ?  They  will  have  ten  thou- 
sand ])0uuds  apiece  wlicii  their  nintlier  dies." 


182  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Oh  !  I  wouldn't  have  our  boy  marry  a  woman  like  one  of 
those,  not  if  she  had  a  million.  I  wouldn't,  my  child  and  my 
blessing ! "  (This  is  addressed  to  a  little  darling  who  happens  to 
be  eating  sweet  cakes,  in  a  high  chair,  off  the  little  table  by  his 
mother's  side,  and  who,  though  he  certainly  used  to  cry  a  good 
deal  at  that  period,  shall  be  a  mute  personage  in  this  history.) 

"You  are  alluding  to  Blanche's  little  affair  with " 

"No,  I  am  not,  sir  !  " 

"How  do   you  know  which   one   I   meant   then? Or   that 

notorious  disappointment  of  Agnes,  when  Lord  Farintosh  became  a 
widower  1  If  he  wouldn't,  she  couldn't,  you  know,  my  dear.  And 
I  am  sure  she  tried  her  best :  at  least,  everybody  said  so." 

"  Ah  !  I  have  no  patience  with  the  way  in  which  you  people  of 
the  world  treat  the  most  sacred  of  subjects — the  most  sacred,  sir. 
Do  you  hear  me  1  Is  a  woman's  love  to  be  pledged,  and  withdrawn 
every  day  1  Is  her  faith  and  purity  only  to  be  a  matter  of  barter, 
and  rank,  and  social  consideration  ?  I  am  sorry,  because  I  don't 
wish  to  see  Philip,  who  is  good,  and  honest,  and  generous,  and  true 
as  yet — however  great  his  faults  may  be — because  I  don't  wish  to 
see  him  given  up  to Oh  1  it's  shocking,  shocking  !  " 

Given  up  to  what  1  to  anything  dreadful  in  this  world,  or  the 
next?  Don't  imagine  that  Pliilip's  relations  thought  they  were 
doing  Phil  any  harm  by  condescending  to  marry  him,  or  themselves 
any  injury.  A  doctor's  son,  indeed  !  Why,  the  Twysdens  were  far 
better  placed  in  the  world  than  their  kinsman  of  Old  Parr  Street ; 
and  went  to  better  houses.  The  year's  levde  and  drawing-room 
would  have  been  incomplete  without  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden.  There 
might  be  flimilies  with  higher  titles,  more  wealth,  higher  positions ; 
but  tlie  world  did  not  contain  more  respectable  folks  than  the 
Twysdens  :  of  this  every  one  of  the  family  was  convinced,  from 
Talbot  himself  down  to  his  heir.  If  somebody  or  some  Body  of 
savants  would  write  the  history  of  the  harm  that  has  been  done  in 
the  world  by  people  who  believe  themselves  to  be  virtuous,  what  a 
queer  edifying  book  it  would  be,  and  how  poor  oppressed  rogues 
might  look  up !  Who  burn  the  Protestants  ? — the  virtuous  Catholics, 
to  be  sure.  Who  roast  the  Catholics'? — the  virtuous  Reformers. 
Who  thinks  I  am  a  dangerous  character,  and  avoids  me  at  the  club  ? 
— the  virtuous  Squaretoes.  Who  scorns?  who  persecutes?  who 
doesn't  forgive? — the  virtuous  Mrs.  Grundy.  She  remembers  her 
neighbour's  peccadilloes  to  the  third  and  fourth  generation ;  and  if 
slie  finds  a  certain  man  fallen  in  her  path,  gathers  up  her  affrighted 
garments  witli  a  shriek,  for  fear  the  muddy  bleeding  wretch  should 
contaminate  her,  and  passes  on. 

I  do  not  seek  to  create  even  surprises  in  this  modest  history, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      183 

or  condescend  to  keep  candid  readers  in  suspense  about  many 
matters  which  might  possibly  interest  them.  For  instance,  the 
matter  of  love  has  interested  novel-readers  for  hundreds  of  years 
past,  and  doubtless  will  continue  so  to  interest  them.  Almost  all 
young  people  read  love-books  and  histories  with  eagerness,  as  oldsters 
read  books  of  medicine,  and  whatever  it  is — heart  complaint,  gout, 
liver,  palsy — cry,  "  Exactly  so,  precisely  my  case  ! "  Phil's  first 
love  affair,  to  which  we  are  now  coming,  was  a  false  start.  I  own 
it  at  once.  And  in  this  commencement  of  his  career  I  believe  he 
was  not  more  or  less  fortunate  than  many  and  many  a  man  and 
woman  in  this  world.  Suppose  the  course  of  true  love  always  did 
run  smooth,  and  everybody  married  his  or  her  first  love.  All  !  what 
would  marriage  be  1 

A  generous  young  fellow  comes  to  market  with  a  heart  ready  to 
leap  out  of  his  waistcoat,  for  ever  thumping  and  tlirobbing,  and  so 
wild  that  he  can't  have  any  rest  till  he  has  disposed  of  it.  What 
wonder  if  he  falls  upon  a  wily  merchant  in  Vanity  Fair,  and  barters 
his  all  for  a  stale  bauble  not  worth  sixpence  1  Phil  chose  to  tivU  in 
love  with  his  cousin;  and  I  warn  you  that  nothing  will  come  of 
that  passion,  except  the  influence  which  it  had  upon  the  young 
man's  character.  Though  my  wife  did  not  love  the  Twysdens,  she 
loves  sentiment,  she  loves  love  affjiirs — all  women  do.  Poor  Phil 
used  to  bore  rne  after  dinner  with  endless  rodomontades  about  his 
passion  and  his  charmer ;  but  my  wife  was  never  tired  of  listening. 
"  You  are  a  selfish,  lieartless,  blase  man  of  the  world,  you  are,"  he 
would  say.  "Your  own  immense  and  undeserved  good  fortune  in 
the  matrimonial  lottery  has  rendered  you  liard,  cold,  crass,  indifferent. 
You  have  been  asleep,  sir,  twice  to-night,  whilst  I  was  talking.  I 
will  go  up  and  tell  Madam  everything.  ,She  has  a  heart."  And 
presently,  engaged  with  my  book  or  my  after-dinner  doze,  I  would 
hear  Phil  striding  and  creaking  overhead,  and  plunging  energetic 
pokers  in  the  drawing-room  fire. 

Tliirty  thousand  i)ounds  to  begin  with  ;  a  third  part  of  tliat  sum 
(doming  to  the  lady  f)-om  her  mother ;  all  tlie  Doctor's  savings  and 
property ; — here  certainly  was  enough  in  i)ossession  and  expectation 
to  satisfy  many  young  coujdes  ;  and  as  Pliil  is  twenty-two,  and 
Agnes  (must  I  own  if?)  twenty-five,  and  as  she  has  consented  to 
listen  to  the  warm  outi)Ourings  of  the  eloquent  and  passionate  youth, 
and  exchange  for  liis  fresh,  new-minted,  golden  sovereign  heart,  that 
used  little  threei)enny-i)iece,  her  own — why  should  they  not  many 
at  once,  and  so  let  us  have  an  end  of  them  and  this  liistory  1  They 
have  plenty  of  money  to  pay  the  parson  and  the  ])ost-chaise ;  they 
may  drive  off  to  the  country,  and  live  on  their  means,  and  lead  an 
existence  so  humdrum  and  tolerably   hai)py   that   Phil   may  grow 


184  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

quite  too  fat,  lazy,  and  unfit  for  his  present  post  of  hero  of  a  novel. 
But  stay  —  there  are  obstacles  ;  coy,  reluctant,  amorous  delays. 
After  all,  Philij}  is  a  dear,  brave,  liandsome,  wild,  reckless,  blunder- 
ing boy,  treading  upon  everybody's  dress-skirts,  smashing  the  little 
Dresden  ornaments  and  the  pretty  little  decorous  gimcracks  of  society, 
life,  conversation ; — but  tliere  is  time  yet.  Are  you  so  very  sure 
about  that  money  of  his  mother's  1  and  how  is  it  that  liis  father, 
tlie  Doctor,  has  not  settled  accounts  with  him  yet  1  C'est  louche. 
A  family  of  higli  position  and  principle  must  look  to  have  the 
money  matters  in  perfect  order,  before  they  consign  a  darling  accus- 
tomed to  every  luxury  to  the  guardianship  of  a  confessedly  wild 
and  eccentric,  though  generous  and  amiable  young  man.  Besides 
— ah  !  besides — besides  ! 

"...  It's  horrible,  Arthur  !  It's  cruel,  Arthur  !  It's  a  shame 
to  judge  a  woman,  or  Christian  people  so  !  Oh  !  my  loves !  my 
blessings !  would  I  sell  i/ou  ? "  says  this  young  mother,  clutching 
a  little  belaced,  befurbelowed  being  to  her  heart,  infentine,  squalling, 
with  blue  shoulder-ribbons,  a  mottled  little  arm  that  has  just  been 
vaccinated,  and  the  sweetest  red  shoes.  "  Would  I  sell  i/on  ?  "  says 
mamma.  Little  Arty,  I  say,  squalls ;  and  little  Nelly  looks  up 
from  her  bricks  with  a  wondering  whimpering  expression. 

Well,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  what  the  "  besides "  is ;  but  the 
fact  is,  that  young  Woolcomb  of  the  Life  Guards  Green,  who  has 
inherited  immense  West  India  property,  and,  we  will  say,  just  a 
teaspoonful  of  that  dark  blood  which  makes  a  man  naturally  partial 
to  blonde  beauties,  has  cast  his  opal  eyes  very  warmly  upon  the 
golden-haired  Agnes  of  late ;  has  danced  with  her  not  a  little ;  and 
when  Mrs.  Twysden's  barouche  appeal's  by  the  Serpentine,  you  may 
not  uufrequently  see  a  pair  of  the  neatest  little  yellow  kid  gloves 
just  playing  with  the  reins,  a  pair  of  the  prettiest  little  boots  just 
touching  the  stirrup,  a  magnificent  horse  dancing,  and  tittupping, 
and  tossing,  and  performing  the  most  graceful  caracoles  and  gamba- 
does, and  on  the  magnificent  horse  a  neat  little  man  with  a  blazing 
red  rtower  in  his  bosom,  and  glancing  opal  eyes,  and  a  dark  com- 
plexion, and  hair  so  Dert/  black  and  curly,  that  I  really  almost  think 
in  some  of  the  Southern  States  of  America  he  would  be  likely  to 
meet  with  rudeness  in  a  railway-car. 

But  in  England  we  know  better.  In  England  Grenville  Wool- 
comb  is  a  man  and  a  brother.  Half  of  Ai-rowroot  Island,  they  say, 
belongs  to  him ;  besides  Mangrove  Hall,  in  Hertfordshire ;  ever  so 
much  property  in  other  counties,  and  that  fine  house  in  Berkeley 
Square.  He  is  called  the  Black  Prince  behind  the  scenes  of  many 
theatres :  ladies  nod  at  him  from  those  broughams  which,  you 
understand,  need  not  be  particularised.     The  idea  of  his  immense 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      185 

riches  is  confirmed  by  the  known  fact  that  he  is  a  stingy  Black 
Prince,  and  most  averse  to  ])arting  with  his  money  except  for  his  own 
adornment  or  amusement.  Wlien  he  receives  at  his  country-house, 
his  entertainments  are,  however,  splendid.  He  has  been  flattered, 
followed,  cai'essed  all  his  life,  and  allowed  by  a  fond  mother  to  have 
his  own  way  ;  and  as  this  has  never  led  him  to  learning,  it  must  be 
owned  that  his  literary  acquirements  are  small,  and  his  writing 
defective.  But  in  the  management  of  his  pecuniary  aftairs  he  is 
very  keen  and  clever.  His  horses  cost  him  less  than  any  young 
man's  in  England  who  is  so  well  mounted.  No  dealer  has  ever 
been  known  to  get  the  better  of  him  ;  and,  though  he  is  certainly 
close  about  money,  when  his  wishes  have  very  keeidy  prompted 
him,  no  sum  has  been  known  to  stand  in  his  w^ay. 

Witness  the  purchase  of  tlie  .     But  never  mind  scandal. 

Let  bygones  be  bygones.  A  yoinig  doctor's  son,  with  a  thousand 
a  year  for  a  fortune,  may  be  considered  a  catch  in  some  circles, 
but  not,  vmis  concevez,  in  the  upper  regions  of  so(7iety.  And  dear 
woman — dear,  angelic,  highly  accomplished,  respectable  woman — 
does  she  not  know  how  to  pardon  many  failings  in  our  sex  1  Age  ? 
psha  !  She  will  crown  my  bare  old  poll  with  the  roses  of  her 
youth.  Complexion  ?  AVhat  contrast  is  sweeter  and  more  touching 
than  Desdemona's  golden  ringlets  on  swart  Othello's  shoulder !  A 
past  life  of  selfishness  and  bad  company  ?  Come  out  from  among 
the  swine,  my  prodigal,  and  I  will  purify  thee  ! 

This  is  W'hat  is  called  cynicism,  you  know.  Then  I  suppose  my 
wife  is  a  cynic,  who  clutches  her  children  to  her  pure  heart,  and 
prays  gracious  Heaven  to  guard  tliem  from  selfishness,  from  worldli- 
ness,  from  heartlessness,  from  wicked  greed. 


M 


CHAPTER   IX 

CONTAINS  ONE  RIDDLE   WHICH  IS  SOLVED,   AND 
PERHAPS  SOME  MORE 

INE  is  a  modest  muse,  and  as  the  period  of  the  story  arrives 
when  a  description  of  love-making  is  justly  due,  my  Mnemo- 
syne turns  away  from  the  young  couple,  drops  a  little 
curtain  over  the  embrasure  where  they  are  whispering,  heaves  a 
sigh  from  her  elderly  bosom,  and  lays  a  finger  on  her  lip.  Ah, 
Mnemosyne  dear !  we  will  not  be  spies  on  the  young  people.  We 
will  not  scold  them.  We  won't  talk  about  their  doings  much. 
When  we  were  young,  we  too,  perhaps,  were  taken  in  under  Love's 
tent ;  we  have  eaten  of  his  salt :  and  partaken  of  his  bitter,  his 
delicious  bread.  Now  we  are  padding  the  hoof  lonely  in  the 
wilderness,  we  will  not  abuse  our  host,  will  we  1  We  will  couch 
under  the  stars,  and  think  fondly  of  old  times,  and  to-morrow  resume 
the  staff  and  the  journey. 

And  yet,  if  a  novelist  may  chronicle  any  passion,  its  flames,  its 
raptures,  its  whispers,  its  assignations,  its  sonnets,  its  quarrels, 
sulks,  reconciliations,  and  so  on,  the  history  of  such  a  love  as  this 
first  of  Phil's  may  be  excusable  in  print,  because  I  don't  believe  it 
was  a  real  love  at  all,  only  a  little  brief  delusion  of  the  senses,  from 
which  I  give  you  warning  that  our  hero  will  recover  before  many 
chapters  are  over.  What !  my  brave  boy,  shall  we  give  your  heart 
away  for  good  and  all,  for  better  or  for  worse,  till  death  do  you 
part  1  What !  my  Corydon  and  sighing  swain,  shall  we  irrevocably 
bestow  you  upon  Phyllis,  who,  all  the  time  you  are  piping  and  pay- 
ing court  to  her,  has  Meliboeus  in  the  cupboard,  and  ready  to  be 
produced  should  he  prove  to  be  a  more  eligible  shepherd  than 
t'other  1  I  am  not  such  a  savage  towards  ray  readers  or  hero,  as 
to  make  them  undergo  the  misery  of  such  a  marriage. 

Philip  was  very  little  of  a  club  or  society  man.  He  seldom  or 
ever  entered  the  "  Megatherium,"  or  when  there  stared  and  scowled 
round  him  savagely,  and  laughed  strangely  at  the  ways  of  the 
inhabitants.  He  made  but  a  clumsy  figure  in  the  world,  though  in 
person  handsome,  active,  and  proper  enough ;  but  he  would  for  ever 
put  his  great   foot  through   the  World's  flounced   skirts,  and  she 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     187 

would  stare,  and  cry  out,  and  hate  him.  He  was  the  last  man  who 
was  aware  of  the  Woolcomb  flirtation,  when  hundreds  of  people,  I 
daresay,  were  simpering  over  it. 

"  Who  is  that  little  man  who  comes  to  your  house,  and  whom 
I  sometimes  see  in  the  Park,  aunt — that  little  man  with  the  very 
white  gloves  and  the  very  tawny  complexion "? "  asks  Philip. 

"  That  is  Mr.  Woolcomb,  of  the  Life  Guards  Green,"  aunt 
remembers. 

"  An  officer  is  he  1 "  says  Philip,  turning  round  to  the  girls. 
"  I  should  have  thought  he  would  have  done  better  for  the  turban 
and  cymbals."  And  he  laughs  and  thinks  he  has  said  a  very  clever 
thing.  Oh,  those  good  things  about  people  and  against  people  ! 
Never,  my  dear  young  friend,  say  them  to  anybody — not  to  a 
stranger,  for  he  will  go  away  and  tell ;  not  to  the  mistress  of  your 
afl'ections,  for  you  may  quarrel  with  her,  and  then  she  will  tell ;  not 
to  your  son,  for  the  artless  child  will  return  to  his  schoolfellows  and 
say:  "Papa  says  Mr.  Blenkinsop  is  a  muff."  My  child,  or  what 
not,  praise  everybody :  smile  on  everybody :  and  everybody  will 
smile  on  you  in  return,  a  sham  smile,  and  hold  you  out  a  sham 
hand  ;  and,  in  a  word,  esteem  you  as  you  deserve.  No.  I  think  you 
and  I  will  take  the  ups  and  the  downs,  the  roughs  and  the  smooths 
of  this  daily  existence  and  conversation.  We  will  praise  those 
whom  we  like,  though  nobody  repeat  our  kind  sayings ;  and  say  our 
say  about  those  whom  we  dislike,  though  we  are  pretty  sure  oxir 
words  will  be  carried  by  tale-bearers,  and  increased  and  multiplied, 
and  remembered  long  after  we  have  forgotten  them.  We  droji  a 
little  stone — a  little  stone  that  is  swallowed  up  and  disappears,  but 
the  whole  pond  is  set  in  commotion,  and  ripples  in  continually 
widening  circles  long  after  the  original  little  stone  lias  popped  down 
and  is  out  of  sight.  Don't  your  speeches  of  ten  years  ago — maimed, 
distorted,  bloated  it  may  be  out  of  all  recognition — come  strangely 
back  to  their  author? 

I'hil,  five  minutes  after  he  had  made  the  joke,  so  entirely  forgot 
his  saying  about  the  Black  Prince  and  the  cymbals,  that,  when 
Ca{)tain  Woolcomb  scowled  at  him  with  his  fiercest  eyes,  young 
Firniin  thought  that  this  was  the  natural  ex])ression  of  the  Ca])tain"s 
swarthy  countenance,  and  gave  himself  no  further  trouble  regard- 
ing it.  "  By  George  !  sir,"  said  Piiil  afterwards,  speaking  of  this 
officer,  "  I  remarke<l  that  he  grinned,  and  chattered,  and  showed  his 
teeth ;  and  renionibering  it  was  the  nature  of  such  baboons  to 
chatter  and  grin,  had  no  idea  tiiat  this  chimpanzee  was  more  angry 
with  nic  than  with  any  other  gentleman.  You  see.  Pen,  I  am  a 
white-skinned  man  :  I  am  pronounced  even  rcd-wliiskered  by  the 
ill-natured.     It  is  nut  the  ]irettiest  colour.     Dut  I  had  no  idea  that 


188  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

I  wag  to  have  a  mulatto  for  a  rival.  I  am  not  so  rich,  certainly, 
but  I  have  enough.  I  can  read  and  spell  correctlj^,  and  write  with 
tolerable  fluency.  I  could  not,  you  know,  could  I,  reasonably 
suppose  that  I  need  fear  competition,  and  that  the  black  horse 
would  beat  the  bay  one  1  Shall  I  tell  you  what  she  used  to  say  to 
me  1  There  is  no  kissing  and  telling,  mind  you.  No,  by  George  ! 
Virtue  and  prudence  were  for  ever  on  her  lips  !  She  Avarbled  little 
sermons  to  me  ;  hinted  gently  tliat  I  should  see  to  safe  investments 
of  my  property,  and  that  no  man,  not  even  a  father,  should  be  the 
sole  and  uncontrolled  guardian  of  it.  She  asked  me,  sir,  scores  and 
scores  of  little  sweet  timid  innocent  questions  about  the  Doctor's 
property,  and  how  much  did  I  think  it  was,  and  how  had  he  laid  it 
out  1  What  virtuous  parents  that  angel  had  !  How  they  brought 
her  up,  and  educated  her  dear  blue  eyes  to  the  main  chance  !  She 
knows  the  price  of  housekeeping,  and  the  value  of  railway  shares ; 
she  invests  capital  for  herself  in  this  world  and  the  next.  She 
mayn't  do  right  always,  but  wrong  1  0  fie,  never !  I  say.  Pen, 
an  undeveloped  angel  with  wings  folded  under  her  dress  ;  not  per- 
haps your  mighty  snow-wliite  flashing  pinions  that  spread  out  and 
soar  up  to  the  highest  stars,  but  a  pair  of  good  serviceable  drab 
dove-coloured  wings,  that  will  support  her  gently  and  equably  just 
over  our  heads,  and  helj)  to  drop  her  softly  when  she  condescends 
upon  us.  When  I  think,  sir,  that  I  might  have  been  married  to  a 
genteel  angel  and  am  single  still, — oh  !  it's  despair,  it's  despair  !  " 

But  Philip's  little  story  of  disappointed  hopes  and  bootless 
passion  must  be  told  in  terms  less  acrimonious  and  unfair  than  the 
gentleman  would  use,  naturally  of  a  sanguine  swaggering  talk,  prone 
to  exaggerate  his  own  disappointments,  and  call  out,  roar — I  dare- 
say swear — if  his  own  corn  was  trodden  upon,  as  loudly  as  some 
men  who  may  have  a  leg  taken  off". 

This  I  can  vouch  for  Miss  Twysden,  Mrs.  Twysden,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  family : — that  if  they,  what  you  call,  jilted  Philip,  they 
did  so  without  the  slightest  hesitation  or  notion  that  they  were 
doing  a  dirty  action.  Their  actions  never  u<e7-e  dirty  or  mean  ;  they 
were  necessary,  I  tell  you,  and  calmly  proper.  They  ate  cheese- 
parings with  graceful  silence  ;  they  cribbed  from  boai'd-wages  ;  they 
turned  hungry  servants  out  of  doors  ;  they  remitted  no  chance  in 
their  own  favour ;  they  slept  gracefully  under  scanty  coverlids ; 
they  lighted  niggard  fires ;  they  locked  the  caddy  with  the  closest 
lock,  and  served  the  teapot  with  the  smallest  and  least  frequent 
spoon.  But  you  don't  suppose  they  thought  they  were  mean,  or 
that  they  did  wrong  1  Ah  !  it  is  admirable  to  think  of  many,  many, 
ever  so  many  respectable  fiimilies  of  your  acquaintance  and  mine, 
my  dear   friend,  and  how  they  meet   together  and  humbug  each 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      189 

other !  "  My  dear,  I  have  cribbed  half-an-inch  of  phish  out  of 
James's  sinall-clothes."  "My  love,  I  have  saved  a  halfiujiniy  out 
of  Mary's  beer.  Isn't  it  time  to  dress  for  the  duchess's  ;  and  don't 
you  think  John  might  wear  that  livery  of  Thomas's,  who  only  had 
it  a  year,  and  died  of  the  small-pox  1  It's  a  little  tight  for  him,  to 
be  sure,  but,"  &c.  What  is  this?  I  profess  to  be  an  impartial 
chronicler  of  poor  Phil's  fortunes,  misfortunes,  friendships,  and  what- 
nots, and  am  getting  almost  as  angry  with  these  Twysdens  as  Philip 
ever  was  himself. 

Well,  I  am  not  mortally  angry  witli  poor  Traviatu  ti'aiiii>iiig 
the  pavement,  with  the  gas-lamp  flaring  on  her  poor  jiainted  smile, 
else  my  indignant  virtue  and  squeamish  modesty  would  never  ^\•ldk 
Piccadilly  or  get  the  air.  But  Lais,  quite  moral  and  very  neatly, 
primly,  and  straitly  laced ;  —  Phryne,  not  the  least  dishevelled, 
but  with  a  fixature  for  her  hair,  and  the  best  stays,  fastened  by 
mamma  ; — your  High  Church  or  Evangelical  Aspasia,  the  model  of 
all  proprieties,  and  owner  of  all  virgin-purity  blooms,  ready  to  sell  her 
cheek  to  the  oldest  old  fogey  who  has  money  and  a  title  ;• — these  aie 
the  Unfortunates,  my  dear  brother  and  sister  sinners,  whom  I  should 
like  to  see  repentant  and  specially  trounced  first.  Why,  some  of 
these  are  put  into  reformatories  in  Grosvenor  Square.  They  wear 
a  prison  dress  of  diamonds  and  Chantilly  lace.  Their  parents  cry, 
and  thank  Heaven  as  they  sell  them ;  and  all  sorts  of  revered 
bishops,  clergy,  relations,  dowagers  sign  the  book  and  ratify  the 
ceremony.  Come  !  let  us  call  a  midnight  meeting  of  those  who 
have  been  sold  in  marriage,  I  say,  and  what  a  respectable,  what  a 
genteel,  what  a  fashionable,  what  a  brilliant,  what  an  imi)osing, 
what  a  multitudinous  assembly  we  will  have  ;  and  where's  the  room 
in  all  Babylon  big  enough  to  hold  them  1 

Look  into  that  grave,  solemn,  dingy,  somewhat  naked,  but 
elegant  drawing-room,  in  Beaunash  Street,  and  with  a  little  fanciful 
opera-glass  you  may  see  a  pretty  little  group  or  two  engaged  at 
different  periods  of  the  day.  It  is  after  lunch,  and  before  Rotten 
Row  ride  time  (this  story,  you  know,  relates  to  a  period  ever  so 
remote,  and  long  before  folks  thought  of  riding  in  tlie  Park  in  the 
forenoon).  After  lunch,  and  before  Rotten  Row  time,  saunters  into 
the  drawing-room  a  fair-haired  young  fellow  with  large  feet  and 
chest,  careless  of  gloves,  with  auburn  whiskers  blowing  over  a  Joose 
collar,  and — must  I  confess  if? — a  most  undeniable  odour  of  cigars 
about  his  person.  He  breaks  out  regarding  the  debate  of  tlie 
previous  night,  or  tlie  pamphlet  of  yesterday,  or  the  i)oem  of  the 
day  i)revic)us,  or  the  scandal  of  the  week  before,  or  upon  the  street- 
sweei)er  at  the  corner,  or  the  Italian  and  monkey  l)cfore  the  Park — 
upon  whatever,  in  a  word,  moves  his  mind  for  the  moment.     If 


190  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Philip  has  had  a  bad  dinner  yesterday  (and  liappens  to  remember 
it),  he  growls,  grumbles,  nay,  I  daresay,  uses  the  most  blasphemous 
language  against  the  cook,  against  the  waiters,  against  the  steward, 
against  the  committee,  against  the  whole  society  of  the  club  where 
he  has  been  dining.  If  Philip  has  met  an  organ-girl  with  pretty 
eyes  and  a  monkey  in  the  street,  he  has  grinned  and  wondered  over 
the  monkey ;  he  has  wagged  his  head,  and  sung  all  the  organ's 
tunes  ;  he  has  discovered  that  the  little  girl  is  the  most  ravishing 
beauty  eyes  ever  looked  on,  and  that  her  scoundrelly  Savoyard 
father  is  most  likely  an  Alpine  miscreant  who  has  bartered  away 
his  child  to  a  pedlar  of  the  beggarly  cheesy  valleys,  who  has  sold 
her  to  a  friend  qui  fait  la  traite  des  hurdigiirdies,  and  has  disposed 
of  her  in  England.  If  he  has  to  discourse  on  the  poem,  pamphlet, 
magazine  article — it  is  written  by  the  greatest  genius,  or  the 
greatest  numskull,  that  the  world  now  exhibits.  He  write  !  A 
man  who  makes  fire  rhyme  with  Marire  !  Tliis  vale  of  tears  and 
world  which  we  inhabit  does  not  contain  such  an  idiot.  Or  have 
you  seen  Dobbins's  poem  ?  Agnes,  mark  my  words  for  it,  there  is 
a  genius  in  Dobbins  which  some  day  will  show  what  I  have  always 
surmised,  what  I  have  always  imagined  possible,  what  I  have  always 
felt  to  be  more  than  probable,  what,  by  George !  I  feel  to  be 
perfectly  certain,  and  any  man  is  a  humbug  who  contradicts  it,  and 
a  malignant  miscreant,  and  the  world  is  full  of  fellows  who  will 
never  give  another  man  credit ;  and  I  swear  that  to  recognise  and 
feel  merit  in  poetry,  painting,  music,  rope-dancing,  anything,  is  the 
greatest  delight  and  joy  of  my  existence.  I  say— what  was  I 
saying  1 " 

"  You  were  saying,  Philip,  that  you  love  to  recognise  the  merits 
of  all  men  whom  you  see,"  says  gentle  Agnes;  "and  I  believe 
you  do." 

"Yes!"  cries  Phil,  tossing  about  the  fair  locks.  "I  think  I 
do.  Thank  Heaven,  I  do.  I  know  fellows  who  can  do  many 
things  better  than  I  dq — everything  better  than  I  do." 

"  Oh,  Philip  !  "  sighs  the  lady. 

"  But  I  don't  hate  'em  for  it." 

"  You  never  hated  any  one,  sir.  You  are  too  brave  !  Can  you 
fancy  Philij)  hating  any  one,  mamma  1 " 

Mamma  is  writing  :  "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Talbot  Twysden  request 
the  honour  of  Admiral  and  Mrs.  Davis  Locker's  company  at 
dinner  on  Thursday  the  so-and-so."  "  Philip  what  1 "  says  mamma, 
looking  up  from  her  card.  "  Philip  hating  any  one  !  Philip  eating 
any  one  !  Philip  !  we  have  a  little  dinner  on  the  24th.  We  shall 
ask  yoiu-  father  to  dine.  We  must  not  have  too  many  of  the  family. 
Come  in  afterwards,  jilease." 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      191 

"  Yes,  aunt,"  says  downright  Phil,  "  I'll  come,  if  you  and  the 
girls  wish.  You  know  tea  is  not  my  line ;  and  I  don't  care  about 
dinners,  except  in  my  own  way,  and  witli " 

"  And  with  your  own  horrid  set,  sir  !  " 

"Well,"  says  Sultan  Philip,  flinging  himself  out  on  the  sofa, 
and  lording  on  the  ottoman,  "  I  like  mine  ease  and  mine  inn." 

"  Ah,  Philip  !  you  grow  more  selfish  every  day.  I  mean  men 
do,"  sighed  Agnes. 

You  will  suppose  mamma  leaves  the  room  at  this  juncture. 
She  has  that  confidence  in  dear  Philip  and  the  dear  girls,  that  she 
sometimes  does  leave  the  room  when  Agnes  and  Phil  are  together. 
She  will  leave  Reuben,  the  eldest  born,  with  her  daughters  :  but 
my  poor  dear  little  younger  son  of  a  Joseph,  if  you  suppose  she  will 
leave  the  room  and  yon  alone  in  it- — 0  my  dear  Joseph,  you  may 
just  jump  down  the  well  at  once !  Mamma,  I  say,  has  left  the 
room  at  last,  bowing  with  a  perfect  sweetness  and  calm  gi-ace  and 
gravity ;  and  she  has  slipped  down  the  stairs,  scarce  more  noisy 
than  the  shadow  that  slants  over  the  faded  carpet  (oh  !  the  faded 
shadow,  the  faded  sunshine  !) — mamma  is  gone,  I  say,  to  the  lower 
regions,  and  with  perfect  good  breeding  is  torturing  the  butler  on 
his  bottle-rack — is  squeezing  the  housekeeper  in  her  jam-closet — is 
watching  the  three  cold  cutlets  shuddering  in  the  larder  behind  the 
wires — is  blandly  glancing  at  the  kitchen-maid  until  the  poor  wench 
fancies  the  pie(;e  of  bacon  is  discovered  which  she  gave  to  the 
crossing-sweeper — and  calmly  penetrating  John  until  he  feels  sure 
his  inmost  heart  is  revealed  to  her,  as  it  throbs  within  his  worsted- 
laced  waistcoat,  and  she  knows  about  that  pawning  of  master's  old 
boots  (beastly  old  highlows !),  and — and,  in  fact,  all  the  most  inti- 
mate circumstances  of  his  existence.  A  wretched  maid,  who  has 
been  ironing  collars,  or  what  not,  gives  her  mis'tress  a  shuddering 
curtsey,  and  slinks  away  with  her  laces  ;  and  meanwhile  our  girl 
and  boy  are  prattling  in  the  drawing-room. 

About  what?  About  everything  on  which  Philij)  chooses  to 
talk.  Tliere  is  nobody  to  contradict  him  but  himself,  and  then 
his  pretty  hearer  vows  and  declares  he  has  not  been  so  very  con- 
tradictory. He  spouts  his  favourite  iwems.  "  Delightful !  Do, 
Philip,  read  us  some  Walter  Scott !  He  is,  as  you  say,  the  most 
I'rcsh,  the  most  manly,  the  most  kindly  of  poetic  writers — not  of 
the  first  class,  certainly.  In  fact,  he  has  written  most  dreadful 
bosh,  as  you  call  it  so  drolly  ;  and  so  has  Wordswortli,  though  he 
is  one  of  the  greatest  of  men,  and  has  reached  sometimes  to  the 
very  greatest  height  and  suldimity  of  poetry  ;  but  now  you  put  it, 
I  must  confess  he  is  often  an  old  bore,  and  I  certainly  should  have 
gone  to  sleep  during  the  'Excursion,'  only  you  read  it  so  nicely. 


192  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

You  don't  think  the  new  coinj)Osers  as  good  as  the  old  ones,  and 
love  mamma's  old-fashioned  playing  1  Well,  Philip,  it  is  delightful, 
so  lady-like,  so  feminine  !  "  Or,  perhaps,  Philip  has  just  come  from 
Hyde  Park,  and  says,  "  As  I  passed  by  Apsley  House,  I  saw  the 
Duke  come  out,  with  his  old  blue  frock  and  white  trousers  and 
clear  face.  I  have  seen  a  picture  of  him  in  an  old  European 
Magazine,  which  I  think  I  like  better  than  all — gives  me  the  idea 
of  one  of  the  brightest  men  in  the  world.  The  brave  eyes  gleam 
at  you  out  of  the  picture  ;  and  there's  a  smile  on  the  resolute  lips, 
which  seems  to  ensure  triumph.  Agnes,  Assaye  must  have  been 
glorious  ! " 

"  Glorious,  Philip  !  "  says  Agnes,  who  had  never  heard  of  Assaye 
before  in  her  life.  Arbela,  perhaps  ;  Salamis,  Marathon,  Agincourt, 
Blenheim,  Busaco — where  dear  grandpapa  was  killed — Waterloo, 
Armageddon  ;  but  Assaye  1     Que  voulez-vous  ? 

"  Think  of  that  ordinarily  prudent  man,  and  how  greatly  he 
knew  how  to  dare  when  occasion  came  !  I  should  like  to  have 
died  after  winning  such  a  game.  He  has  never  done  anything  so 
exciting  since." 

"  A  game  ?  I  thought  it  was  a  battle  just  now,"  murmurs 
Agnes  in  her  mind ;  but  there  may  be  some  misunderstanding. 
"Ah,  Philip,"  she  says,  "  I  fear  excitement  is  too  much  the  life  of 
all  young  men  now.     When  will  you  be  quiet  and  steady,  sir  % " 

"  And  go  to  an  otfice  every  day,  like  my  uncle  and  cousin  ; 
and  read  the  newspaper  for  three  hours,  and  trot  back  and  see 
you." 

"Well,  sir!  that  ought  not  to  be  such  very  bad  amusement," 
says  one  of  the  ladies. 

"  What  a  clumsy  wretch  I  am !  my  foot  is  always  trampling  on 
something  or  somebody  !  "  groans  Phil. 

"  You  must  come  to  us,  and  we  will  teach  you  to  dance.  Bruin  !  " 
says  gentle  Agnes,  smiling  on  him.  I  think  when  very  much 
agitated,  her  pulse  must  liave  gone  up  to  forty.  Her  blood  must 
have  been  a  light  pink.  The  heart  that  beat  under  that  pretty 
white  chest,  which  she  exposed  so  liberally,  may  have  throbbed 
pretty  quickly  once  or  twice  with  waltzing,  but  otherwise  never 
rose  or  fell  beyond  its  natural  gentle  undulation.  It  may  have  had 
throbs  of  grief  at  a  disappointment  occasioned  by  the  milliner  not 
bringing  a  dress  home ;  or  have  felt  some  little  fluttering  impulse  of 
youthful  passion  when  it  was  in  short  frocks,  and  Master  Grimsby 
at  the  dancing-school  showed  some  preference  for  another  young 
pupil  out  of  the  nursery.  But  feelings,  and  hopes,  and  blushes,  and 
passions  now  ?  Psha  !  They  pass  away  like  nursery  dreams.  Now 
there  are  only  proprieties.     What  is  love,  young  heart  1     It  is  two 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     193 

thousand  a  year,  at  the  very  lowest  computation  ;  and,  with  the 
present  rise  in  wages  and  house-rent,  that  calculation  can't  last  very 
long.  Love?  Attachment?  Look  at  Frank  Maythorn,  with  his 
vernal  blushes,  his  leafy  whiskers,  his  sunshiny  laughing  face,  and 
all  the  birds  of  spring  carolling  in  his  jolly  voice ;  and  old  General 
Pinwood  hobbling  in  on  his  cork  leg,  with  his  stars  and  orders,  and 
leering  round  the  room  from  under  his  painted  eyebrows.  Will  my 
modest  nymph  go  to  Maythorn,  or  to  yonder  leering  Satyr,  who 
totters  towards  her  in  his  white  and  rouge  ?  Nonsense.  She  gives 
her  garland  to  the  old  man,  to  be  sure.  He  is  ten  times  as  rich 
as  the  young  one.  And  so  they  went  on  in  Arcadia  itself,  really. 
Not  in  that  namby-pamby  ballet  and  idyll  world,  where  they 
tripped  up  to  each  other  in  rhythm,  and  talked  hexameters ;  but 
in  tiie  real  downright  no-mistake  country — Arcadia — where  Tityrus, 
fluting  to  Amaryllis  in  the  shade,  had  his  pipe  very  soon  put  out 
when  Melibceus  (the  great  grazier)  performed  on  his  melodious, 
exquisite,  irresistible  cowhorn ;  and  where  Daphne's  mother  dressed 
her  up  with  ribbons  and  drove  her  to  market,  and  sold  her,  and 
swapped  her,  and  bartered  her  like  any  other  lamb  in  the  fair. 
This  one  has  been  trotted  to  the  market  so  long  now  that  she  knows 
the  way  lierself.  Her  baa  has  been  heard  for — do  not  let  us  count 
how  many  seasons.  She  has  nibbled  out  of  countless  hands  ;  frisked 
in  many  thousand  dances  ;  come  quite  harmless  away  from  goodness 
knows  how  many  wolves.  Ah  !  ye  lambs  and  raddled  innocents 
of  our  Arcadia !  Ah,  old  Eive  1  Is  it  of  your  ladyship  this 
fable  is  narrated?  I  say  it  is  as  old  as  Cadmus,  and  man-and- 
mutton-kind. 

So,  when  Philip  comes  to  Beaunash  Street,  Agnes  listens  to 
him  most  kindly,  sweetly,  gently,  and  affectionately.  Her  pulse 
goes  up  very  nearly  half  a  beat  when  the  echo  of  his  horse's  heels 
is  heard  in  the  quiet  street.  It  undergoes  a  corresponding  de- 
jjression  when  the  daily  grief  of  parting  is  encountered  and  over- 
come. Blanche  and  Agnes  don't  love  each  other  very  passionately. 
If  I  may  say  as  much  regarding  those  two  lambkins,  they  butt  at 
each  other — they  quarrel  witli  each  other — but  they  have  secret 
understandings.  During  Pliil's  visits  the  girls  remain  together, 
you  \inderstaiid,  or  mamma  is  witli  the  young  ])C()pli'.  Female 
friends  may  come  in  to  call  on  ]\Irs.  Twysden,  and  the  matrons 
whisper  together,  and  glance  at  the  cousins,  and  look  knowing. 
"  Poor  orphan  boy  ! "  mamma  says  to  a  sister  matron.  "  I  am 
like  a  mother  to  him  since  my  dear  sister  died.  His  own  home 
is  so  blank,  and  ours  so  merry,  so  affectionate  !  There  may  be 
intimacy,  tender  regard,  the  utmost  confidence  between  cousins — 
there  may  be  future  and  even  closer  ties  between  them — but  you 
11  N 


194  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

understand,  dear  Mrs.  Matcliara,  no  engagement  between  them. 
He  is  eager,  hot-headed,  impetuous,  and  imprudent,  as  we  all 
know.  She  has  not  seen  the  world  enough — is  not  sure  of  herself, 
poor  dear  child  !  Therefore  every  circumspection,  every  caution 
is  necessary.  There  must  be  no  engagement,  no  letters  between 
them.  My  darling  Agnes  does  not  write  to  ask  him  to  dinner 
without  showing  the  note  to  me  or  her  father.  My  dearest  girls 
respect  themselves."  "Of  course,  my  dear  Mrs.  Twysden,  they 
are  admirable,  both  of  them.  Bless  you,  darlings  !  Agnes,  you 
look  radiant !  Ah,  Rosa,  my  cliild,  I  wish  you  had  dear  Blanche's 
complexion ! " 

"And  isn't  it  monstrous  keeping  that  poor  boy  hanging  on 
until  Mr.  Woolcomb  has  made  up  his  mind  about  coming  for- 
ward?" says  dear  Mrs.  Matcham  to  her  own  daughter,  as  her 
brougham-door  closes  on  the  pair.  "  Here  he  conies !  Here  is 
his  cab.  Maria  Twysden  is  one  of  the  smartest  women  in  England 
— that  she  is." 

"  How  odd  it  is,  mamma,  that  the  beaiu  cousin  and  Captain 
Woolcomb  are  always  calling,  and  never  call  together ! "  remarks 
the  ingemie. 

"  They  might  quarrel  if  they  met.  They  say  young  Mr.  Firmin 
is  very  quarrelsome  and  impetuous  !  "  says  mamma. 

"  But  how  are  they  kept  apart  1 " 

"  Chance,  my  dear  !  mere  chance  ! "  says  mamma.  And  they 
agree  to  say  it  is  chance — and  they  agree  to  pretend  to  believe 
one  another.  And  the  girl  and  the  mother  know  everything  about 
Woolcomb's  property,  everything  about  Philip's  property  and  ex- 
pectations, everything  about  all  the  young  men  in  London,  and 
those  coming  on.  And  Mrs.  Matcham's  girl  fished  for  Captain 
Woolcomb  last  year  in  Scotland,  at  Loch-liookey ;  and  stalked  him 
to  Paris ;  and  they  went  down  on  their  knees  to  Lady  Banbury 
wlien  they  heard  of  the  theatricals  at  the  Cross ;  and  pursued  that 
man  about  until  he  is  forced  to  say,  "  Confound  me  !  Hang  me  ! 
it's  too  bad  of  that  woman  and  her  daughter,  it  is  now,  I  give 
you  my  honour  it  is  !  And  all  the  fellows  chaff  me !  And  she 
took  a  house  in  Regent's  Park,  opposite  our  barracks,  and  asked 
for  her  daughter  to  learn  to  ride  in  our  school — I'm  blest  if  she 
didn't,  Mrs.  Twysden !  and  I  thought  my  black  mare  would  have 
kicked  her  off  one  day — I  mean  the  daughter — but  she  stuck  on 
like  grim  death  ;  and  the  fellows  call  them  Mrs.  Grim  Death  and 
her  daughter.  Our  surgeon  called  them  so,  and  a  doosid  rum  fellow 
— and  they  chaff  me  about  it,  you  know — ever  so  many  of  the  fellows 
do — and  i'wi  not  going  to  be  had  in  that  way  by  Mrs.  Grim  Death 
and  her  daughter  !     No,  not  as  I  knows,  if  you  please  ! " 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD     195 

"  You  are  a  dreadful  man,  and  you  gave  her  a  dreadfid  name, 
Captain  Wooleomb  !  "  says  mamma. 

"  It  wasn't  me.  It  was  the  surgeon,  you  know.  Miss  Agnes  : 
a  doosid  funny  and  witty  fellow,  Nixon  is — and  sent  a  thing  once 
to  Punch,  Nixon  did.  I  heard  him  make  tlie  riddle  in  Albany 
Barracks  and  it  riled  Foker  so  !  You've  no  idea  how  it  riled  Foker, 
for  he's  in  it !  " 

"  In  it  1 "  asks  Agnes,  with  the  gentle  smile,  the  candid  blue  eyes 
— the  same  eyes,  expression,  lips,  tiiat  smile  and  sparkle  at  Philip. 

"  Here  it  is  !  Capital !  Took  it  down  !  Wrote  it  into  my 
pocket-book  at  once  as  Nixon  made  it.  '  AU  doctors  like  my 
first,  that's  clear  !  '  l)r.  Firmin  does  that.  Old  Parr  Street  party  ! 
Don't  you  see.  Miss  Agnes  !     Fee  !     Don't  you  see  1 " 

"  Fee  !  Oh,  you  droll  tiling  !  "  cries  Agnes,  smiling,  radiant, 
very  much  puzzled. 

"  '  My  second,'  "  goes  on  the  young  officer — "  '  My  second  (jives 
us  Faker's  beer  !  '  " 

"  '  My  whole's  the  shortest  ?nonth  in  all  the  year  !  '  Don't  you 
see,  Mrs.  Twysden  ?  Fee-Brewery,  don't  you  see  ?  February  ! 
A  doosid  good  one,  isn't  it  now  1  and  I  wonder  Punch  never  put  it 
in.  And,  upon  my  word,  I  used  to  spell  it  Febuary  before,  I  did ; 
and  I  daresay  ever  so  many  fellows  do  still.  And  I  know  tlie  right 
way  now,  and  all  from  that  riddle  which  Nixon  made." 

The  ladies  declare  he  is  a  droll  man,  and  full  of  fun  He  rattles 
on,  artlessly  telling  his  little  stories  of  ^)o\%  drink,  adventure,  in 
which  the  dusky  little  man  himself  is  a  prominent  figure.  Not 
honey-mouthed  Plato  would  be  listened  to  more  kindly  by  those 
three  ladies.  A  bland  frank  smile  shines  over  Talbot  Twysden's 
noble  face,  as  he  comes  in  from  his  office,  and  finds  the  Creole 
prattling.  "What!  you  here,  Wooleomb?  Hey!  Glad  to  see 
you  ! "  And  tlie  gallant  hand  goes  out  and  meets  and  grasps  Wool- 
comb's  tiny  kid  glove. 

"  He  has  been  so  anuising,  papa  !  He  has  been  making  us  die  with 
laughing  !     Tell  papa  that  riddle  you  made,  Captain  Wooleomb." 

"  Tliat  ridille  I  made  ?  That  riddle  Nixon,  our  surgeon,  made 
'  All  doctors  like  my  first,  that's  clear,'  "  &c. 

And  da  capo.  And  the  family,  as  he  expounds  this  aihiiirablc 
rebus,  gather  round  the  young  officer  in  a  grouj),  and  the  curtain 
drops. 

As  in  a  theatre  booth  at  a  fair  tlicrc  are  two  or  tliree  i)erf()rm- 
ances  in  a  day,  so  in  Beaunash  Street  a  little  genteel  comedy  is 
played  twice  : — at  four  o'clock  with  Mr.  Firmin,  at  five  o'clock 
with  Mr.  Wooleomb ;  and  for  both  young  gentlemen,  .same  smiles, 
same  eyes,  same  voice,  same  welcome.     Ah,  bravo  !  ah,  encore ! 


CHAPTER   X 

IN  WHICH  WE  VISIT  ''ADMIRAL  BYNG" 

FROM  long  residence  in  Bohemia,  and  fatal  love  of  bachelor 
ease  and  habits,  Master  Philip's  pure  tastes  were  so  destroyed, 
and  his  manners  so  perverted,  that,  you  will  hardly  believe 
it,  he  was  actually  indifterent  to  the  pleasures  of  the  refined  home 
we  liave  just  been  describing ;  and,  when  Agnes  was  away,  some- 
times even  when  she  was  at  home,  was  quite  relieved  to  get  out  of 
Beaunash  Street.  He  is  hardly  twenty  yards  from  the  door,  when 
out  of  his  pocket  tliere  conies  a  case ;  out  of  the  case  there  jumps 
an  aromatic  cigar,  which  is  scattering  fragrance  around  as  he  is 
marching  briskly  northwards  to  his  next  house  of  call.  The  pace 
is  even  more  lively  now  than  when  he  is  hastening  on  what  you 
call  the  wings  of  love  to  Beaunash  Street.  At  the  house  whither 
he  is  now  going,  he  and  the  cigar  are  always  w-elcome.  There  is 
no  need  of  munching  orange  chips,  or  chewing  scented  pills,  or 
flinging  your  weed  away  half-a-mile  before  you  reach  Thornhaugh 
Street — the  low  vulgar  place.  I  promise  you  Pliil  may  smoke  at 
Brandon's,  and  find  others  doing  the  same.  He  may  set  the  house 
on  fire,  if  so  minded,  such  a  favourite  is  he  there  ;  and  the  Little 
Sister,  with  her  kind  beaming  smile,  will  be  there  to  bid  him 
welcome.  How  that  woman  loved  Phil,  and  how  he  loved  her,  is 
quite  a  curiosity  ;  and  both  of  them  used  to  be  twitted  with  this 
attachment  by  their  mutual  friends,  and  blush  as  they  acknow- 
ledged it.  Ever  since  the  little  nurse  had  saved  his  life  as  a  school- 
boy, it  was  a  la  vie  a  la  mort  between  them.  Phil's  father's 
chariot  used  to  come  to  Thornhaugh  Street  sometimes — at  rare 
times — and  the  Doctor  descend  thence  and  have  colloquies  with  the 
Little  Sister.  She  attended  a  patient  or  two  of  his.  She  was 
certainly  very  much  better  oft'  in  her  money  matters  in  these  late 
years,  since  she  had  known  Dr.  Firmin.  Do  you  think  she  took 
money  from  him "?  As  a  novelist,  who  knows  everything  about  his 
people,  I  am  constrained  to  say,  Yes.  She  took  enough  to  pay 
some  little  bills  of  her  weak-minded  old  father,  and  send  the  bailift''s 
hand  from  his  old  collar.  But  no  more.  "  I  think  you  owe  him 
as  much  as  that,"  she  said  to  the  Doctor.     But  as  for  compUments 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      197 

between  them — "  Dr.  Firmin,  I  would  die  rather  than  be  beholden 
to  you  for  anything,"  she  said,  with  her  little  limbs  all  in  a  tremor, 
and  her  eyes  flashing  anger.  "  How  dare  you,  sir,  after  old  days, 
be  a  coward  and  pay  compliments  to  me ;  I  will  teU  your  son  of 
you,  sir  !  "  and  the  little  woman  looked  as  if  she  could  have  stabbed 
the  elderly  libertine  there  as  he  stood.  And  he  shrugged  his 
handsome  shoulders :  blushed  a  little  too,  perhaps  :  gave  her  one 
of  his  darkling  looks,  and  departed.  She  had  believed  him  once. 
She  had  married  him,  as  she  fancied.  He  had  tired  of  her ; 
forsaken  her ;  left  her — left  her  even  without  a  name.  She  liad 
not  known  his  for  long  years  after  her  trust  and  his  deceit.  "  No, 
sir,  I  wouldn't  have  your  name  now,  not  if  it  were  a  lord's,  I 
wouldn't,  and  a  coronet  on  your  carriage.  You  are  beneath  me 
now,  Mr.  Brand  Firmin  ! "  she  had  said. 

How  came  she  to  love  the  boy  so  1  Years  back,  in  her  own 
horrible  extremity  of  misery,  she  could  remember  a  week  or  two 
of  a  brief,  strange,  exquisite  happiness,  wliich  came  to  hc^  in  the 
midst  of  her  degradation  and  desertion,  and  for  a  few  days  a  baby 
in  her  arras,  with  eyes  like  PhiUp's.  It  was  taken  from  her,  after 
a  few  days — only  sixteen  days.  Insanity  came  upon  her,  as  her 
dead  infant  was  carried  away  : — insanity,  and  fever,  and  struggle 
— ah  !  who  knows  how  dreadful  ?  She  never  does.  There  is  a 
gap  in  her  life  which  she  never  can  recall  quite.  But  George 
Brand  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.,  knows  how  very  frequent  are  such 
cases  of  mania,  and  that  women  who  don't  speak  about  them  often 
will  cherisli  them  for  years  after  they  appear  to  have  passed  away. 
The  Little  Sister  says,  quite  gravely,  sometimes,  "  Tliey  are  allowed 
to  come  back.  They  do  come  back.  Else  what's  the  good  of  little 
cherubs  bein'  born,  and  smilin',  and  happy,  and  beautiful — say,  for 
sixteen  days,  and  then  an  end?  I'v(!  talked  al)out  it  to  many 
ladies  in  grief  sim'lar  to  mine  was,  and  it  comfoVts  them.  And 
when  I  saw  tliat  child  on  his  sick-bed,  and  he  lifted  his  eyes,  / 
knew  him,  I  tell  you,  IVIrs.  Ridley.  I  don't  speak  about  it  ;  but  I 
knew  him,  ma'am  ;  my  angel  came  back  again.  I  know  him  by 
the  eyes.  Look  at  'em.  Did  you  ever  see  sucli  eyes?  They  look 
as  if  they  had  seen  heaven.  His  father's  don't."  Mrs.  Ridley 
believes  this  theory  solemidy,  and  I  think  I  know  a  lady,  nearly 
connected  with  myself,  who  can't  be  got  quite  to  disown  it.  And 
this  secret  opinion  to  women  in  grief  and  sorrow  over  their  new- 
born lost  infants  Mrs.  Brandon  persists  in  imparting.  "  /  know 
a  case,"  the  nurse  murmurs,  "of  a  poor  mother  who  lost  her 
child  at  sixteen  days  old ;  and  sixteen  ycais  afti-r,  on  the  very  day, 
she  saw  him  again." 

Philip  knows  so  far  of  the  Little  Si.stcr's  stciry,  that  he  is  the 


198  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

object  of  this  delusion,  and,  indeed,  it  very  strangely  and  tenderly 
affects  him.  He  remembers  fitfully  the  illness  through  which  the 
Little  Sister  tended  him,  the  wild  paroxysms  of  his  fever,  his  head 
throbbing  on  her  shoulders — cool  tamarind  drinks  which  she  applied 
to  his  lips — great  gusty  night  shadows  fiickering  through  the  bare 
school  dormitory — the  little  figure  of  the  nurse  gliding  in  and  out 
of  the  dark.  He  must  be  aware  of  the  recognition,  which  we  know 
of,  and  which  took  place  at  his  bedside,  though  he  has  never 
mentioned  it — not  to  Ids  father,  not  to  Caroline.  But  he  clings  to 
the  woman,  and  shrinks  from  the  man.  Is  it  instinctive  love  and 
antipatliy  1  The  special  reason  for  his  quarrel  with  his  father  the 
junior  Firmin  has  never  exi)licitly  told  me  then  or  since.  I  have 
known  sons  much  more  confidential,  and  who,  when  their  fathers 
tripped  and  stumbled,  would  bring  their  acquaintances  to  jeer  at 
the  patriarch  in  his  foil. 

One  day,  as  Philip  enters  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  the  Sister's 
little  parlour  there,  fancy  his  astonishment  on  finding  his  father's 
dingy  friend,  the  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt,  at  his  ease  by  the  fireside. 
"  Surprised  to  see  me  here,  eh  1 "  says  the  dingy  gentleman,  with  a 
sneer  at  Philip's  lordly  face  of  wonder  and  disgust.  "  Mrs.  Brandon 
and  I  turn  out  to  be  very  old  friends." 

"Yes,  sir,  old  acquaintances,"  says  the  Little  Sister,  very 
gravely. 

"The  Captain  brought  me  home  from  the  club  at  the  'Byng.' 
Jolly  fellows  the  Byngs.  My  service  to  you,  Mr.  Cann  and  Mrs. 
Brandon."  And  the  two  persons  addressed  by  the  gentleman,  who 
is  "taking  some  refreshment,"  as  the  phrase  is,  made  a  bow  in 
acknowledgment  of  this  salutation. 

"You  sliould  liave  been  at  Mr.  Philip's  call-supper.  Captain 
Gann,"  the  divine  resumes.  "  That  was  a  night !  Tiptop  swells — 
noblemen — first-rate  claret.  That  claret  of  your  father's,  Philip,  is 
pretty  nearly  drunk  down.  And  your  song  was  famous.  Did  you 
ever  hear  him  sing,  Mrs.  Brandon  1 " 

"  Who  do  you  mean  by  him  ?  "  says  Philip,  who  always  boiled 
with  rage  before  tliis  man. 

Caroline  divines  the  antipathy.  She  lays  a  little  hand  on 
Philip's  arm.  "Mr.  Hunt  has  been  having  too  mucli,  I  think,"  she 
says.      "  I  did  know  him  ever  so  long  ago,  Philip  !  " 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  Him  ? "  again  says  Philip,  snorting  at 
Tufton  Hunt. 

"Him? — Dr.  Luther's  Hymn!  'Wein,  Weib,  und  Gesang,'  to 
be  sure  !  "  cries  the  clergyman,  humming  the  tune.  "  I  learned  it 
in  Germany  myself — passed  a  good  deal  of  time  in  Germany, 
Captain    Gann — six   months   in    a    specially   shady   place — Quod 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     199 

Strasse,  in  Frankfort -on -the -Maine  —  being  persecuted  by  some 
wicked  Jews  there.  And  there  was  another  poor  English  cliap  in 
the  place,  too,  who  used  to  chirp  that  song  behind  the  bars,  and 
died  there,  and  disappointed  the  Philistines.  I've  seen  a  deal  of 
life,  I  have  ;  and  met  with  a  precious  deal  of  misfortune ;  and 
borne  it  pretty  stoutly,  too,  since  your  father  and  I  were  at  college 
together,  Philip.  You  don't  do  anything  in  this  way?  Not  so 
early,  elal  It's  good  rum,  Gann,  and  no  mistake."  And  again  the 
chaplain  drinks  to  the  Captain,  who  waves  tlie  dingy  hand  of 
hospitality  towards  his  dark  guest. 

For  several  months  past  Hunt  had  now  been  a  resident  in 
London,  and  a  pretty  constant  visitor  at  Dr.  Firmin's  house.  He 
came  and  wont  at  liis  will.  He  made  the  place  his  house  of  call ; 
and  in  tlie  Doctor's  trim,  silent,  orderly  mansion  was  perfectly  free, 
talkative,  dirty,  and  familiar.  Philip's  loathing  for  the  man  in- 
creased till  it  reached  a  pitch  of  frantic  hatred.  Mr.  Phil,  theoreti- 
cally a  Radical,  and  almost  a  Republican  (in  opposition,  jjcrhaps,  to 
his  father,  who,  of  course,  held  the  highly  respectable  line  of  politics) 
— Mr.  Sansculotte  Phil  was  personally  one  of  the  most  aristocratic 
and  overbearing  of  young  gentlemen ;  and  had  a  contempt  and 
hatred  for  mean  people,  for  base  people,  for  servile  people,  and 
especially  for  too  familiar  people,  which  was  not  a  little  amusing 
sometimes,  which  was  provoking  often,  but  which  he  never  was  at 
the  least  pains  of  disguising.  His  uncle  and  cousin  Twysden,  for 
example,  he  treated  not  half  so  civilly  as  their  footmen.  Little 
Talbot  hundiled  himself  before  Phil,  and  felt  not  always  easy  in 
his  company.  Young  Twysden  hated  him,  and  did  not  disguise  his 
sentiments  at  the  club,  or  to  their  mutual  acquaintance  behind  Phil's 
broad  back.  And  Phil,  for  his  part,  adopted  towards  his  cousin  a 
kick-me-downstairs  manner,  which  I  own  must  have  been  provoking 
to  that  gentleman,  who  was  Pliil's  senior  by  three  years,  a  clerk  in 
a  public  office,  a  member  of  several  good  clubs,  and  altogether  a 
genteel  member  of  society.  Phil  would  often  forget  Ringwood 
Twysden's  })resence,  and  pursue  his  own  conversation  entirely  re- 
gardless of  Ringwood's  observations.  He  vns  very  rude,  I  own. 
Que  voulez-vous  ?  We  have  all  of  us  our  little  failings,  and  one 
of  Philip's  was  an  ignorant  imi)atience  of  bores,  parasites,  and 
pretenders. 

So  no  wonder  my  young  gentleman  was  not  very  fond  of  his 
fatlicr's  friend,  the  dingy  gaol  cluqdain.  I,  who  am  the  most 
tolerant  man  in  the  world,  as  all  my  friends  know,  liked  Hunt  little 
better  than  Phil  did.  The  man's  presence  made  me  uneasy.  His 
dress,  his  complexion,  his  teeth,  liis  leer  at  women — Qne  sais-je  ? — ■ 
everything  was  unpleasant  about  this  Mr.  Hunt,  and  his  gaiety  and 


200  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

familiarity  more  specially  disgusting  than  even  his  hostility.  The 
wonder  was  that  battle  had  not  taken  place  between  Philip  and  the 
gaol  clergyman,  who,  I  suppose,  was  accustomed  to  be  disliked,  and 
laughed  with  cynical  good-humour  at  the  other's  disgust. 

Hunt  was  a  visitor  of  many  tavern-parlours ;  and  one  day, 
strolling  out  of  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  he  saw  his  friend  Dr.  Firmin's 
well-known  equipage  stopping  at  a  door  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  out 
of  which  the  Doctor  presently  came  ;  "  Brandon  "  was  on  the  door. 
Brandon,  Brandon'?  Hunt  remembered  a  dark  transaction  of  more 
than  twenty  years  ago — of  a  woman  deceived  by  this  Firmin,  who 
then  chose  to  go  by  the  name  of  Brandon.  "  He  lives  with  her 
still,  the  old  hypocrite,  or  he  has  gone  back  to  her,"  thought  the 
parson.  Oh,  you  old  sinner  !  And  the  next  time  he  called  in  Old 
Parr  Street  on  his  dear  old  college  friend,  Mr.  Hunt  was  specially 
jocular,  and  frightfully  unpleasant  and  familiar. 

"  Saw  your  trap  Tottenham  Court  Road  way,"  says  the  slang 
parson,  nodding  to  the  i^hysician. 

"  Have  some  patients  there.  People  are  ill  in  Tottenham  Court 
Road,"  remarks  the  Doctor. 

"  '  Pallida  mors  aequo  pede  ' —  hey.  Doctor  1  What  used  Flaccus 
to  say,  when  we  were  undergrads  1 " 

"  '  ^quo  pede,' "  sighs  the  Doctor,  casting  up  his  fine  eyes  to 
the  ceiling. 

"  Sly  old  fox  !  Not  a  word  will  he  say  about  her  !  "  thinks  the 
clergyman.  "  Yes,  yes,  I  remember.  And,  by  Jove  !  Gann  was 
the  name." 

Gann  was  also  the  name  of  that  queer  old  man  who  frequented 
the  "Admiral  Byng,"  where  the  ale  was  so  good — the  old  boy 
whom  they  called  the  Captain.  Yes  ;  it  was  clear  now.  That  ugly 
business  was  patched  up.  The  astute  Hunt  saw  it  all.  The  Doctor 
still  kept  up  a  connection  with  tlie — the  party.  And  that  is  her 
old  father,  sure  enough.  "  The  old  fox,  the  old  fox !  I've  earthed 
him,  have  1 1  This  is  a  good  game.  I  wanted  a  little  something 
to  do,  and  this  will  excite  me,"  thinks  the  clergyman. 

I  am  describing  what  I  never  could  have  seen  or  heard,  and 
can  guarantee  only  verisimilitude,  not  truth,  in  my  report  of  the 
private  conversation  of  these  worthies.  The  end  of  scores  and 
scores  of  Hunt's  conversations  with  his  friend  was  the  same — an 
application  for  money.  If  it  rained  when  Hunt  parted  from  his 
college  chum,  it  was,  "  I  say,  Doctor,  I  shall  sjjoil  my  new  hat, 
and  I'm  blest  if  I  have  any  money  to  take  a  cab.  Thank  you,  old 
boy.  Au  revoir."  If  the  day  was  fine,  it  was,  "  My  old  blacks 
show  tlie  white  seams  so,  that  you  must  out  of  your  charity  rig 
me  out  with  a  new  pair.     Not  your  tailor.     He  is  too  expensive. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     201 

Thank  you — a  couple  of  sovereigns  will  do."  And  the  Doctor  takes 
two  from  the  mantelpiece,  and  the  divine  retires,  jingling  the  gold 
in  his  greasy  pocket. 

The  Doctor  is  going  after  the  few  words  about  pallida  mors, 
and  has  taken  up  that  well-brushed  broad  hat,  with  that  ever  fresh 
lining,  which  we  all  admire  in  him — "  Oh,  I  say,  Firmin  ! "  breaks 
out  the  clergyman.  "  Before  you  go  out,  you  must  lend  me  a  few 
sovs,  please.  They've  cleaned  me  out  in  Air  Street.  That  con- 
founded roulette  !     It's  a  madness  with  me." 

"  By  George  ! "  cries  the  other,  with  a  strong  execration,  "  you 
are  too  bad,  Himt.  Every  week  of  my  life  you  come  to  me  for 
money.  You  have  had  plenty.  Go  elsewhere.  I  won't  give 
it  you." 

"Yes,  you  will,  old  boy,"  says  the  other,  looking  at  him  a 
terrible  look  ;  "for " 

"  For  what  ? "  says  the  Doctor,  the  veins  of  his  tall  .^orehead 
growing  very  full. 

"For  old  times'  sake,"  says  the  clergyman.  "There's  seven 
of  'em  on  the  table  in  bits  of  paper — that'll  do  nicely."  And  he 
sweeps  the  fees  with  a  dirty  hand  into  a  dirty  pouch.  "  Halloa  ! 
Swearin'  and  cursin'  before  a  clergyman.  Don't  cut  up  rough,  old 
fellow !     Go  and  take  the  air.     It'll  cool  you." 

"  I  don't  think  I  would  like  that  fellow  to  attend  me,  if  I  was 
sick,"  says  Hunt,  shufHing  away,  rolling  the  plunder  in  his  greasy 
hand.  "  I  don't  think  I'd  like  to  meet  him  by  moonlight  alone, 
in  a  very  quiet  lane.  He's  a  determined  chap.  And  his  eyes  mean 
miching  malecho,  his  eyes  do.  Phew  ! "  And  he  laughs,  and 
makes  a  rude  observation  about  Dr.  Firmin's  eyes. 

That  afternoon,  the  gents  who  used  the  "  Admiral  Byng "  re- 
marked the  reapi)carance  of  the  party  who  looked  in  last  evening, 
and  who  now  stood  glasses  round,  and  made  himself  uncommon 
agreeable  to  be  sure.  Old  Mr.  Ridley  says  he  is  quite  the  gentle- 
man. "  Hevident  have  been  in  foring  ])arts  a  great  deal,  and  speaks 
the  languages.  Probbly  have  'ad  misfortunes,  which  many  'ave 
'ad  them.  Drinks  rum-and-water  trenienjous.  'Ave  scarce  no 
he{)pytite.  Many  get  into  this  way  from  misfortunes.  A  plesn 
man,  most  well  informed  on  almost  every  subjeck.  Think  he's  a 
clergyman.  He  and  Mr.  Gann  have  made  (juite  a  friendship 
together,  he  and  Mr.  Gann  'ave.  Which  they  talked  of  Watloo, 
and  Gann  is  very  fond  of  that,  Gann  is,  most  certny."  I  imagine 
Ridley  delivering  these  sentences,  and  alternate  little  volleys  of 
smoke,  as  he  sits  behind  his  sober  calumet  and  prattles  in  the 
tavern  parlour. 

After  Dr.   Firmin  has  careered  through  the  town,  standing  by 


202  THE    ADVENTUEES    OF    PHILIP 

sick-beds  with  his  sweet  sad  smile,  fondled  and  blessed  by  tender 
mothers  who  hail  him  as  the  saviour  of  their  children,  touching 
ladies'  jiulses  with  a  hand  as  delicate  as  their  own,  patting  little 
fresh  cheeks  with  courtly  kindness— little  cheeks  that  owe  their 
roses  to  his  marvellous  skill ;  after  he  has  soothed  and  comforted 
my  Lady,  shaken  hands  witii  my  Lord,  looked  in  at  the  club,  and 
exchanged  courtly  salutations  with  brother  bigwigs,  and  driven 
away  in  the  handsome  carriage  with  the  noble  horses— admired, 
respecting,  respectful,  saluted,  saluting — so  that  every  man  says, 
"Excellent  man,  Firmin.  Excellent  doctor,  excellent  man.  Safe 
man.  Sound  man.  Man  of  good  family.  Married  a  rich  wife. 
Lucky  man."  And  so  on.  After  the  day's  triumphant  career,  I 
fancy  I  see  the  Doctor  driving  homeward,  with  those  sad  sad  eyes, 
that  haggard  smile. 

He  comes  whirling  up  Old  Parr  Street  just  as  Phil  saunters  in 
from  Regent  Street,  as  usual,  cigar  in  mouth.     He  flings  away  the 
cigar  as  he  sees  his  father,  and  they  enter  the  house  together. 
"  Do  you  dine  at  home,  Philip  ? "  the  fether  asks. 
"Do  you,  sir?     I  will  if  you  do,"  says  the  son,  "and  if  you 
are  alone." 

"Alone.  Yes.  That  is,  there'll  be  Hunt,  I  suppose,  whom 
you  don't  like.     But  the  poor  fellow  has  few  places  to  dine  at. 

What?     D Hunt?     That's  a  strong  expression  about  a  poor 

fellow  in  misfortune,  and  your  father's  old  friend." 

I  am  afraid  Philip  had  used  that  wicked  monosyllable  whilst 
his  father  was  speaking,  and  at  the  mention  of  the  clergyman's 
detested  name.  "I  beg  your  pardon,  father.  It  slipped  out  in 
spite  of  me.     I  can't  help  it.      I  hate  the  fellow." 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  or  dislikes,  Philip,"  says,  or 
rather  groans,  the  safe  man,  the  sound  man,  the  prosperous  man, 
the  lucky  man,  the  miserable  man.  For  years  and  years  he  has 
known  that  his  boy's  heart  has  revolted  from  him,  and  detected 
him,  and  gone  from  him ;  and  with  shame  and  remorse,  and  sicken- 
ing feeling,  he  lies  awake  in  tlie  night-watches,  and  thinks  how  he  is 
alone — alone  in  tlie  world.  Ah  !  Love  your  parents,  young  ones  ! 
0  Father  Beneficent  !  strengthen  our  hearts  :  strengthen  and  purify 
them  so  that  we  may  not  have  to  blush  before  our  children  ! 

"  You  don't  disguise  your  likes  and  dislikes,  Philip,"  says  the 
father  then,  with  a  tone  that  smites  strangely  and  keenly  on  the 
young  man. 

There  is  a  great   tremor  in   Philip's  voice,   as   he  says,   "No, 
father,  I  can't  bear  that  man,  and  I  can't  disguise  my  feelings.     I 
have  just  parted  from  the  man.     I  have  just  met  him." 
"  Where  ? " 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     203 

"At— at  Mrs.  Brandon's,  father."  He  blushes  like  a  girl  as 
he  speaks. 

At  the  next  moment  he  is  soared  by  the  execration  which  hisses 
from  his  father's  lips,  and  the  awful  look  of  hate  which  the  elder's 
face  assumes — that  fatal,  forlorn,  fallen,  lost  look  which,  man  and 
boy,  has  often  frightened  poor  Phil.  Philip  did  not  like  that  look, 
nor  indeed  that  other  one,  which  his  father  cast  at  Hunt,  who 
presently  swaggered  in. 

"  What !  you,  dine  here  %  We  rarely  do  papa  the  honour  of 
dining  with  him,"  says  the  parson,  with  his  knowing  leer.  "  I 
suppose.  Doctor,  it  is  to  be  fatted-calf  day  now  the  prodigal  has 
come  home.     There's  worse  things  than  a  good  fillet  of  veal ;  eh  %  " 

Whatever  the  meal  might  be,  the  greasy  chaplain  leered  and 
winked  over  it  as  he  gave  it  his  sinister  blessing.  The  two  elder 
guests  tried  to  be  lively  and  gay,  as  Philip  thought,  who  took  sucli 
little  trouble  to  disguise  his  own  moods  of  gloom  or  merriment. 
Nothing  was  said  regarding  the  occurrences  of  the  morning  wiien 
my  young  gentleman  had  been  rather  rude  to  Mr.  Hunt ;  and 
Philip  did  not  need  his  father's  caution  to  make  no  mention  of  his 
previous  meeting  with  their  guest.  Hunt,  as  usual,  talked  to  the 
butler,  made  sidelong  remarks  to  the  footman,  and  garnishe<l  his 
conversation  with  slippery  double-entendre  and  dirty  old-world  slang. 
Betting-houses,  gambling-houses,  Tattersall's,  fights  and  their  fre- 
quenters, were  his  cheerful  themes,  and  on  these  he  descanted  as 
usual.  The  Doctor  swallowed  this  dose,  which  his  friend  poured 
out,  witliout  the  least  expression  of  disgust.  On  the  contrary,  he 
was  cheerful :  he  was  for  an  extra  bottle  of  claret — it  never  could 
be  in  better  order  than  it  was  now. 

The  bottle  was  scarce  })ut  on  the  table,  and  tasted  and  pro- 
nounced perfect,  when — oh  !  disajipointment ! — the  butler  reappears 
witli  a  note  for  tlie  Doctor.  One  of  his  patients.  He  nuist  go. 
She  has  little  tlie  matter  witli  her.  Slie  lives  hard  by,  in  Mayfair. 
"  You  and  Hunt  finish  this  bottle,  unless  I  am  back  before  it  is 
done;  and  if  it  is  done,  we'll  have  another,"  says  Dr.  Firmin 
jovially.  "Don't  stir.  Hunt" — and  Dr.  Firmin  is  gone,  leaving 
Pliilip  alone  with  the  guest  to  whom  he  had  certainly  been  rude  in 
the  morning. 

"  The  Doctor's  patients  often  grow  very  unwell  about  claret 
time,"  growls  Mr.  Hunt,  some  few  miiuites  after.  "Never  mind. 
The  drink's  good — good  !  as  somebody  said  at  your  famous  call- 
supper,  Mr.  Philip — won't  call  you  Pliilip,  as  you  don't  like  it. 
You  were  iniconnnon  crusty  to  me  in  the  morning,  to  be  sure.  In 
my  time  tliere  would  have  been  bottles  broke,  or  worse,  for  that 
sort  of  treatment." 


204.  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  I  have  asked  your  pardon,"  Philip  said.  "  I  was  annoyed 
about — no  matter  what — and  had  no  right  to  be  rude  to  Mrs. 
Brandon's  guest." 

"  I  say,  did  you  tell  the  governor  that  you  saw  me  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  1 "  asks  Hunt. 

''  I  was  very  rude  and  ill-tempered,  and  again  I  confess  I  was 
wrong,"  said  Phil,  boggling  and  stuttering,  and  turning  very  red. 
He  remembered  his  father's  injunction. 

"  I  say  again,  sir,  did  you  tell  your  father  of  our  meeting  this 
morning  1 "  demands  the  clergyman. 

"  And  pray,  sir,  what  right  liave  you  to  ask  me  about  my 
private  conversation  with  my  father  1 "  asks  Philip,  with  towering 
dignity. 

"  You  won't  tell  me  1  Then  you  have  told  him.  He's  a  nice 
man,  your  father  is,  for  a  moral  man." 

"  I  am  not  anxious  for  your  opinion  about  my  father's  morality, 
Mr.  Hunt,"  says  Philip,  gasping  in  a  bewildered  manner,  and 
drumming  the  table.  "  I  am  here  to  replace  him  in  his  absence, 
and  treat  his  guest  with  civility." 

"  Civility  !     Pretty  civility  !  "  says  the  other,  glaring  at  him. 

"  Such  as  it  is,  sir,  it  is  my  best,  and — I — I  have  no  other," 
groans  the  young  naan. 

"  Old  friend  of  your  father's,  a  university  man,  a  Master  of 
Arts,  a  gentleman  born,  by  Jove  !  a  clergyman — though  I  sink 
that ■" 

"  Yes,  sir,  you  do  sink  that,"  says  Philip. 

"Am  I  a  dog,"  shrieks  out  the  clergyman,  "to  be  treated  by 
you  in  this  way  1     Who  are  you  ?     Do  you  know  who  you  are  ? " 

"  Sir,  I  am  striving  with  all  my  strength  to  remember,"  says 
Philip. 

"  Come  !  I  say  !  don't  try  any  of  your  confounded  airs  on  me  !  " 
shrieks  Hunt,  with  a  profusion  of  oaths,  and  swallowing  glass  after 
glass  from  the  various  decanters  before  him.  "  Hang  me,  when  I 
was  a  young  man,  I  would  have  sent  one — two  at  your  nob,  though 
you  were  twice  as  tall !  Who  are  you,  to  patronise  your  senior, 
your  father's  old  pal — a  university  man  :— you  confounded  super- 
cilious  " 

"  I  am  here  to  pay  every  attention  to  my  father's  guest,"  says 
Phil ;  "  but,  if  you  have  finished  your  wine,  I  shall  be  happy  to 
break  up  the  meeting,  as  early  as  you  please." 

"You  shall  pay  me;  I  swear  you  shall,"  said  Hunt. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt !  "  cried  Philip,  jumping  up,  and  clenching  his 
great  fists,  "I  should  desire  nothing  better." 

The  man  shrank  back,  thinking  Pliilip  was  going  to  strike  him 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     205 

(as  Philip  told  me  in  describing  the  scene),  and  made  for  the  bell. 
But  when  the  butler  came,  Philip  only  asked  for  coffee ;  and  Hunt, 
uttering  a  mad  oath  or  two,  staggered  out  of  the  room  after  the 
servant.  Brice  said  he  had  been  drinking  before  he  came.  He  was 
often  so.  And  Phil  blessed  his  stars  that  he  had  not  assaulted  his 
father's  guest  then  and  there,  under  his  own  roof-tree. 

He  went  out  into  the  air.  He  gasped  and  cooled  himself  under 
the  stars.  He  soothed  his  feelings  by  his  customary  consolation  of 
tobacco.  He  remembered  that  Ridley  in  Thornhaugh  Street  held 
a  divan  that  night ;  and  jumped  into  a  cab,  and  drove  to  his  old 
friend. 

The  maid  of  the  house,  who  came  to  the  door  as  the  cab  was 
driving  away,  stopped  it  ;  and  as  Phil  entered  the  passage,  he  found 
the  Little  Sister  and  his  father  talking  together  in  the  hall.  The 
Doctor's  broad  hat  shaded  his  face  from  the  hall-lamp,  which  was 
burning  with  an  extra  brightness,  but  Mrs.  Brandon's  was  very 
pale,  and  she  had  been  crying. 

She  gave  a  little  scream  when  she  saw  Phil.  "  Ah  !  is  it  you, 
dear  1 "  she  said.  She  ran  up  to  him  :  seized  both  his  hands  :  clung 
to  him,  and  sobbed  a  thousand  hot  tears  on  his  hand.  "  I  never 
will.     Oh,  never,  never,  never  !  "  she  murmured. 

The  Doctor's  broad  chest  heaved  as  with  a  great  sigh  of  relief 
He  looked  at  the  woman  and  at  his  son  with  a  strange  smile ; — not 
a  sweet  smile. 

"  God  bless  you,  Caroline,"  he  said,  in  his  pompous,  rather 
theatrical  way. 

"  Good  night,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Brandon,  still  clinging  to  Philip's 
hand,  and  making  the  Doctor  a  little  humble  curtsey.  And  when 
he  was  gone,  again  she  kissed  Philip's  hand,  and  dropped  her  tears 
on  it,  and  said,  "  Never,  my  dear ;  no,  never,  never  !  " 


CHAPTER   XI 

IN   IF  HIGH  PHILIP  IS   VERY  ILL-TEMPERED 

PHILIP  had  long  divined  a  part  of  his  dear  little  friend's 
history.  An  uneducated  young  girl  had  been  found,  cajoled, 
deserted  by  a  gentleman  of  the  world.  And  poor  Caroline 
was  the  victim,  and  Philip's  own  father  the  seducer.  He  easily 
guessed  as  much  as  this  of  the  sad  little  story.  Dr.  Firmin's 
part  in  it  was  enough  to  shock  his  son  with  a  thrill  of  disgust, 
and  to  increase  the  mistrust,  doubt,  alienation,  with  which  the 
father  had  long  inspired  the  son.  What  would  Philip  feel,  wlien 
all  the  pages  of  that  dark  book  were  opened  to  him,  and  he  came 
to  hear  of  a  false  marriage,  and  a  ruined  and  outcast  woman, 
deserted  for  years  by  the  man  to  whom  he  himself  was  most 
bound?  In  a  word,  Philip  had  considered  this  as  a  mere  case 
of  early  libertinism,  and  no  more ;  and  it  was  as  such,  in  the 
very  few  words  which  he  may  have  uttered  to  me  respecting  this 
matter,  that  he  had  chosen  to  regard  it.  I  knew  no  more  than 
my  friend  had  told  me  of  the  story  as  yet ;  it  was  only  by  degrees 
that  I  learned  it,  and  as  events,  now  subsequent,  served  to  develop 
and  explain  it. 

The  elder  Firmin,  when  questioned  by  his  old  acquaintance, 
and,  as  it  appeared,  accomplice  of  former  days,  regarding  the  end 
of  a  certain  intrigue  at  Margate,  wliicli  had  occurred  some  four 
or  five-and-twenty  years  back,  and  when  Firmin,  having  reason 
to  avoid  his  college  creditors,  chose  to  live  away  and  bear  a  false 
name,  had  told  the  clergyman  a  number  of  falsehoods  which  ap- 
peared to  satisfy  him.  What  had  become  of  that  poor  little  thing 
about  whom  he  had  made  such  a  fool  of  himself?  Oh,  slie  was 
dead,  dead  ever  so  many  years  before.  He  had  pensioned  her  off. 
She  had  married,  and  died  in  Canada — yes,  in  Canada.  Poor  little 
thing !  Yes,  she  was  a  good  little  thing,  and,  at  one  time,  he 
had  been  very  soft  about  her.  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  state  of  a 
respectable  gentleman  that  he  told  lies,  and  told  lies  habitually 
and  easily.  But,  you  see,  if  you  commit  a  crime,  and  break  a 
seventh  commandment  let  us  say,  or  an  eighth,  or  choose  any 
number  you  will — you  will  probably  have  to  back  the  lie  of  action 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     207 

by  the  lie  of  the  tongue,  and  so  you  are  fairly  warned,  and  I  have 
no  help  for  you.  If  I  murder  a  man,  and  the  policeman  inquires, 
"Pray,  sir,  did  you  cut  this  here  gentleman's  throat  1"  I  must 
bear  false  witness,  you  see,  out  of  self-defence,  though  I  may  be 
naturally  a  most  reliable  truth-telling  man.  And  so  with  regard 
to  many  crimes  which  gentlemen  commit — it  is  painful  to  have 
to  say  respecting  gentlemen,  but  they  become  neither  more  nor 
less  than  habitual  liars,  and  have  to  go  lying  on  through  life  to 
you,  to  me,  to  the  servants,  to  their  wives,   to  their  children,  to 

oh,  awful  name !  I  bow  and  hiunble  myself     May  we  kneel, 

may  we  kneel,  nor  strive  to  speak  our  falsehoods  before  Thee  ! 

And  so,  my  dear  sir,  seeing  that  after  committing  any  infrac- 
tion of  the  moral  laws,  you  must  tell  lies  in  order  to  back  your- 
self out  of  your  scrape,  let  me  ask  you,  as  a  man  of  honour  and  a 
gentleman,  whether  you  had  not  better  forego  the  crime,  so  as  to 
avoid  the  unavoidable,  and  unpleasant,  and  daily  recurring  necessity 
of  tlie  subsequent  perjury?  A  poor  young  girl  of  the  lower  orders, 
cajoled  or  ruined,  more  or  less,  is  of  course  no  great  matter.  The 
little  baggage  is  turned  out  of  doors — worse  luck  for  her ! — or  she 
gets  a  place,  or  she  marries  one  of  her  own  class,  who  lias  not  the 
excpiisite  delicacy  belonging  to  "gentle  blood" — and  there  is  an 
encl  of  her.  But  if  you  marry  her  privately  and  irregularly  your- 
self, and  then  throw  her  off,  and  then  marry  somebody  else,  you 
are  brought  to  book  in  all  sorts  of  unpleasant  ways.  I  am  writing 
of  (juite  an  old  story,  be  pleased  to  remember.  The  first  part  of 
the  history  I  myself  printed  some  twenty  years  ago ;  and  if  you 
fancy  I  allude  to  any  more  modern  period,  madam,  you  are  entirely 
out  in  your  conjecture. 

It  must  have  been  a  most  unpleasant  duty  for  a  man  of  fashion, 
honour,  and  good  family,  to  lie  to  a  i)oor  tipsy  disreputable  bank- 
rupt mer(;hant's  daughter,  such  as  Caroline  Gann ;  but  George 
Brand  Firmin,  Esquire,  M.D.,  had  no  other  choice,  and  when  he 
lied — as  in  severe  cases,  when  he  administered  calomel — he  thought 
it  best  to  give  the  drug  freely.  Thus  he  lied  to  Hunt,  saying  tliat 
Mrs.  Brandon  was  long  since  dead  in  Canada ;  and  he  lied  to 
Caroline,  prescribing  for  her  the  very  same  \n\l,  as  it  were,  and 
saying  that  Hunt  was  long  since  dead  in  Canada,  too.  And  I  can 
fajicy  few  more  painful  and  humiliating  {)ositions  for  a  man  of  rank 
and  fashion  and  rejiutation,  than  to  have  to  demean  himself  so  far  as 
to  tell  lies  to  a  little  low-bred  person,  who  gets  her  bread  as  a  nurse 
of  the  sick,  and  has  not  the  proper  use  of  her  h's. 

"  Oh  yes.  Hunt ! "  Firmin  had  said  to  the  Little  Sister,  in  one 
of  those  sad  little  colloquies  which  sometimes  took  place  between 
him  and  his  victim,  his  wife  of  old  days.     "  A  wild  bad  man  Hunt 


208  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

was — in  days  when  I  own  I  was  little  better  !  I  have  deeply 
repented  since,  Caroline  ;  of  nothing  more  than  of  my  conduct  to 
you ;  for  you  were  worthy  of  a  better  fate,  and  you  loved  me 
truly — madly." 

"Yes,"  says  Caroline. 

"  I  was  wild  then !  I  was  desperate !  I  had  ruined  my 
fortunes,  estranged  my  father  from  me,  was  hiding  from  my 
creditors  under  an  assumed  name — that  under  which  I  saw  you. 
Ah,  why  did  I  ever  come  to  your  house,  my  poor  cliild?  The 
mark  of  the  demon  was  upon  me.  I  did  not  dare  to  speak  of 
marriage  before  my  father.  You  have  yours,  and  tend  liim  with 
your  ever  constant  goodness.  Do  you  know  that  my  father  would 
not  see  me  when  he  died  1  Oh,  it's  a  cruel  thing  to  think  of !  "  and 
the  suffering  creature  slaps  his  tall  forehead  with  his  trembling 
hand ;  and  some  of  his  grief  about  his  own  father,  I  daresay,  is 
sincere,  for  he  feels  the  shame  and  remorse  of  being  alienated  from 
his  own  son. 

As  for  the  marriage — that  it  was  a  most  wicked  and  unjustifi- 
able deceit,  he  owned ;  but  he  was  wild  when  it  took  place,  wild 
with  debt  and  with  despair  at  his  father's  estrangement  from  him — 
but  tlie  fact  was,  it  was  no  marriage. 

"I  am  glad  of  that !  "  sighed  the  poor  Little  Sister. 
"  Why?"  asked  the  other  eagerly.     His  love  was  dead,  but  his 
vanity  was  still  hale  and  well.      "  Did  you  care  for  somebody  else, 

Caroline  1     Did  you  forget  your  George,  whom  you  used  to " 

"  No  !  "  said  the  little  woman  bravely.  "  But  I  couldn't  live 
with  a  man  who  behaved  to  any  woman  so  dishonest  as  you  be- 
haved to  me.  I  liked  you  because  I  thought  you  was  a  gentleman. 
My  poor  painter  was  whom  you  used  to  despise  and  trample  to 
hearth — and  my  dear  dear  Phihp  is,  Mr.  Firmin.  But  gentlemen 
tell  the  truth  !  Gentlemen  don't  deceive  poor  innocent  girls,  and 
desert  'em  without  a  penny  !  " 

"  Caroline  !  I  was  driven  by  my  creditors.     I " 

"  Never  mind.  It's  over  now.  I  bear  you  no  malice,  Mr. 
Firmin,  but  I  would  not  marry  you,  no,  not  to  be  doctor's  wife 
to  the  Queen  !  " 

This  had  been  the  Little  Sister's  language  when  there  was  no 
thought  of  the  existence  of  Hunt,  the  clergyman  who  had  celebrated 
their  marriage ;  and  I  don't  know  wliether  Firmin  was  most  piqued 
or  pleased  at  the  divorce  wliich  the  little  woman  pronounced  of  her 
own  decree.  But  when  tlie  ill-omened  Hunt  made  his  appearance, 
doubts  and  terrors  filled  the  physician's  mind.  Hunt  was  needy, 
greedy,  treacherous,  unscrupulous,  desperate.  He  could  hold  this 
marriage  over   the   Doctor.      He   could  threaten,   extort,   expose, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     209 

perhaps  invalidate  Philip's  legitimacy.  The  first  marriage,  almost 
certainly,  was  null,  but  the  scandal  would  he  fatal  to  Firmin's 
reputation  and  practice.  And  the  quarrel  with  his  son  entailed 
consequences  not  pleasant  to  think  of.  You  see  George  Firmin, 
Esquire,  M.D.,  was  a  man  with  a  great  development  of  the  Lack 
head  ;  when  he  willed  a  thing,  he  willed  it  so  fiercely  that  he 
must  have  it,  never  mind  the  consequences.  And  so  he  had 
willed  to  make  himself  master  of  poor  little  Caroline  :  and  so  he 
had  willed,  as  a  young  man,  to  have  horses,  splendid  entertain- 
ments, roulette  and  ^cartd,  and  so  forth  ;  and  the  bill  came  at  its 
natural  season,  and  George  Firmin,  Esquire,  did  not  always  like  to 
pay.  But  for  a  grand,  prosperous,  highly-bred  gentleman  in  the 
best  society — with  a  polislied  forehead  and  manners,  and  universally 
looked  up  to — to  have  to  tell  lies  to  a  poor  little  timid  uncomplain- 
ing sick-room  nurse,  it  -was  humiliating,  wasn't  it  ?  And  I  can  feel 
for  Firmin. 

To  have  to  lie  to  Hunt  was  disgusting :  but  somehow  not  so 
exquisitely  mean  and  degrading  as  to  have  to  cheat  a  little  trusting, 
humble,  houseless  creature,  over  the  bloom  of  whose  gentle  young 
life  his  accursed  foot  had  already  trampled.  But  then  this  Hunt 
was  such  a  cad  and  ruffian  that  there  need  be  no  scruple  about 
humbugging  him ;  and  if  Firmin  had  had  any  humour  he  might 
have  had  a  grim  sort  of  pleasure  in  leading  the  dirty  clergyman  a 
dance  thro'  bush  thro'  briar.  So,  ])erhaps  (of  course  I  have  no 
means  of  ascertaining  the  fact),  the  Doctor  did  not  altogether  dis- 
like the  duty  which  now  devolved  on  him  of  hoodwinking  his  old 
acfjuaintance  and  accomplice.  I  don't  like  to  use  such  a  vulgar 
plirase  regarding  a  man  in  Dr.  Firmin's  high  social  position,  as  to 
say  of  him  and  the  gaol  chajilain  that  it  was  "  thief  catch  thief;" 
but  at  any  rate  Hunt  is  such  a  low,  graceless,  friendless  vagabond, 
that  if  he  comes  in  for  a  few  kicks,  or  is  mystified,  we  need  not  be 
very  sorry.  When  Mr.  Thurtell  is  hanged  we  don't  put  on  mourn- 
ing. His  is  a  i)ainful  position  for  the  moment ;  but,  after  all,  he 
has  murdered  Mr.  William  Weare. 

Firmin  was  a  bold  and  courageous  man,  liot  in  pursuit,  fierce  in 
desire,  but  cool  in  danger,  and  rapid  in  action.  Some  of  his  great 
successes  as  a  physician  arose  from  liis  daring  and  successful  ])ractice 
in  sudden  emergency.  Winle  Hunt  was  only  lurching  about  the 
town  an  aimless  miscreant,  living  from  dirty  hand  to  dirty  mouth, 
and  as  long  as  he  could  get  drink,  cards,  and  shelter,  tolerably  con- 
tent, or  at  least  pretty  easily  appeased  by  a  guinea-dose  or  two — 
Firmin  could  adopt  the  palliative  system  ;  soothe  his  patient  Avith 
an  occasional  bounty ;  set  him  to  sleep  with  a  composing  draught 
of  claret  or  brandv  ;  and  let  the  day  take  care  of  itself  He  might 
IX  ■  "  O 


210  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

die ;  he  might  have  a  fancy  to  go  abroad  again  ;  he  might  be  trans- 
ported for  forgery  or  some  other  rascaldom,  Dr.  Firmin  would  con- 
sole himself ;  and  he  trusted  to  the  chapter  of  accidents  to  get  rid 
of  his  friend.  But  Hunt,  aware  that  the  w^oman  was  alive  whom 
he  had  actually,  though  luilawfully,  married  to  Firmin,  became  an 
enemy  whom  it  was  necessary  to  subdue,  to  cajole,  or  to  bribe,  and 
the  sooner  the  Doctor  put  himself  on  his  defence  the  better.  What 
should  the  defence  be  1  Perhaps  the  most  effectual  was  a  fierce 
attack  on  the  enemy ;  perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  bribe  him. 
The  course  to  be  taken  would  be  best  ascertained  after  a  little 
previous  reconnoitring. 

"He  will  try  and  inflame  Caroline,"  the  Doctor  thought,  "by 
representing  her  wrongs  and  her  rights  to  her.  He  will  show  her 
that,  as  my  wife,  she  has  a  right  to  my  name  and  a  share  of  my 
income.  A  less  mercenary  woman  never  lived  than  this  poor  little 
creature.  She  disdains  money,  and,  except  for  her  father's  sake, 
would  have  taken  none  of  mine.  But  to  punish  me  for  certainly 
rather  shabby  behaviour  ;  to  claim  and  take  her  own  right  and  posi- 
tion in  the  world  as  an  honest  woman,  may  she  not  be  induced  to 
declare  war  against  me,  and  stand  by  her  marriage  1  After  she  left 
home,  her  two  Irish  half-sisters  deserted  her  and  spat  upon  her ; 
and  when  she  would  have  returned,  the  heartless  women  drove  her 
from  the  door.  Oh,  the  vixens  !  And  now  to  drive  by  them  in 
her  carriage,  to  claim  a  maintenance  from  me,  and  to  have  a  riglit 
to  my  honourable  name,  would  she  not  have  her  dearest  revenge 
over  her  sisters  by  so  declaring  her  marriage  ? " 

Firmin's  noble  mind  misgave  him  very  considerably  on  this 
point.  He  knew  women,  and  how  those  had  treated  their  little 
sister.  Was  it  in  human  nature  not  to  be  revenged  ?  These 
thoughts  rose  straightway  in  Firmin's  mind,  when  he  heard  that 
the  much  dreaded  meeting  between  Caroline  and  the  chaplain  had 
come  to  pass. 

As  he  ate  his  dinner  with  his  guest,  his  enemy,  opposite  to  him, 
he  was  determining  on  his  plan  of  action.  The  screen  was  up,  and 
he  was  laying  his  guns  behind  it,  so  to  speak.  Of  course  he  was  as 
civil  to  Hunt  as  the  tenant  to  his  landlord  when  he  comes  with  no 
rent.  So  the  Doctor  laughed,  joked,  bragged,  talked  his  best,  and 
was  thinking  the  while  what  was  to  be  done  against  the  danger. 

He  had  a  plan  which  might  succeed.  He  must  see  Caroline 
immediately.  He  knew  the  weak  point  of  her  heart,  and  where 
she  was  most  likely  to  be  vulnerable.  And  he  would  act  against 
her  as  barbarians  of  old  acted  against  their  enemies,  when  they 
brought  the  captive  wives  and  children  in  front  of  the  battle,  and 
batle  the  foe  strike  through  them.     He  knew  how  Caroline  loved 


NL'ltSK    AND    DOCTOR. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     211 

his  boy.  It  was  through  tliat  love  he  would  work  upon  her.  As 
he  washes  his  pretty  hands  for  dinner,  and  bathes  his  noble  brow, 
he  arranges  his  little  plan.  He  orders  himself  to  be  sent  for  soon 
after  the  second  bottle  of  claret — and  it  appears  the  Doctor's  ser- 
vants were  accustomed  to  the  delivery  of  these  messages  from  their 
master  to  himself.  Tlie  plan  arranged,  now  let  us  take  our  dinner 
and  our  Avine,  and  make  ourselves  comfortable  until  the  moment  of 
action.  In  his  wild-oats  days,  when  travelling  abroad  with  wild 
and  noble  companions,  Firmin  had  fought  a  duel  or  two,  and  was 
always  remarkable  for  his  gaiety  of  conversation  and  the  fine  appe- 
tite which  he  showed  at  breakfast  before  going  on  to  the  field.  So, 
I)erhaj)S,  Hunt,  had  he  not  been  stupefied  by  previous  drink,  might 
have  taken  the  alarm  by  remarking  Firmin's  extra  courtesy  and 
gaiety,  as  they  dined  together.      It  was  nunc  vinnm,  eras  cequor. 

When  the  second  bottle  of  claret  was  engaged,  Dr.  Firmin 
starts.  He  lias  an  advance  of  half-an-hour  at  least  on  his  adversary, 
or  on  the  man  who  may  be  his  adversary.  If  the  Little  Sister  is 
at  home,  he  will  see  her — he  will  lay  bare  his  candid  heart  to  her, 
and  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.     Tlie  Little  Sister  was  at  home. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  you  very  particularly  about  that  case  of 
poor  Lady  Humandhaw,"  says  he,  droi)ping  his  voice. 

"  I  will  step  out,  my  dear,  and  take  a  little  fresh  air,"  says 
Captain  Gann  ;  meaning  that  he  will  be  ofi'  to  the  "  Admiral  Byng  "  ; 
and  the  two  are  together. 

"  I  have  had  something  on  my  conscience.  I  have  deceived 
you,  Caroline,"  says  the  Doctor,  with  the  beautiful  shining  forehead 
and  hat. 

"Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  says  she,  bending  over  her  M^ork ;  "you've 
used  me  to  tliat." 

"A  man  whom  you  knew  once,  and  who  tempted  me  for  his 
own  selfish  ends  to  do  a  very  wrong  tiling  by  you — a  man  whom  I 
thought  i^ead  is  alive  : — Tufton  Hunt,  who  ])erformed  that^ — tliat 
illegal  ceremony  at  Margate,  of  which  so  often  and  often  on  my 
knees  I  have  repented,  Caroline  !  " 

The  beautifid  hands  are  clasped,  the  beautiful  deep  voice  thrills 
lowly  through  the  room  ;  and  if  a  tear  or  two  can  be  squeezed  out 
of  tlie  beautiful  eyes,  I  daresay  the  Doctor  will  not  be  sorry. 

"  He  has  been  here  to-day.  Him  and  Mr.  Philip  was  here  and 
quarrelled.      Philip  has  told  you,  I  suppose,  sir?" 

"  Before  Heaven,  '  on  tlic  word  of  a  gentleman,'  when  I  said  he 
was  dead,  Caroline,  I  thought  he  was  dead  !  Yes,  I  declare,  at  our 
college,  Maxwell — Dr.  Maxwell — who  had  been  at  Cambridge  Avith 
us,  told  me  that  our  old  friend  Hunt  liad  died  in  Canada."  (This, 
my  beloved  friends  and  readers,  may  not  liavc  been  the  precise  long- 


212  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

bow  which  George  Firmin,  Esquire,  M.D,,  pulled ;  but  that  he 
twanged  a  famous  lie  out,  whenever  there  was  occasion  for  the 
weapon,  I  assiu-e  you  is  an  undoubted  fact.)  "Yes,  Dr,  Maxwell 
told  me  our  old  friend  was  dead — our  old  friend?  My  worst 
enemy  and  yours !  But  let  that  pass.  It  was  he,  Caroline,  who 
led  me  into  crimes  which  I  have  never  ceased  to  deplore." 

"Ah,  Mr.  Firmin,"  sighs  the  Little  Sister,  "since  I've  known 
you,  you  was  big  enough  to  take  care  of  yourself  in  that  way." 

"  I  have  not  come  to  excuse  myself,  Caroline,"  says  the  deep 
sweet  voice.  "  I  have  done  you  enough  wrong,  and  I  feel  it  here — • 
at  this  heart.  I  have  not  come  to  speak  about  myself,  but  of 
some  one  I  love  the  best  of  all  the  world — the  only  being  I  do  love 
— some  one  you  love,  you  good  and  generous  soul — about  Philip." 

"  What  is  it  about  Philip  ? "  asks  Mrs.  Brandon  very  quickly. 

"  Do  you  want  harm  to  happen  to  him  1 " 

"  Oh,  ray  darling  boy,  no  ! "  cries  the  Little  Sister,  clasping  her 
little  hands. 

"  Would  you  keep  him  from  harm  1 " 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  know  I  would.  When  he  had  the  scarlet  fever, 
didn't  I  pour  the  drink  down  his  poor  throat,  and  nurse  him,  and 
tend  him,  as  if,  as  if — as  a  mother  would  her  own  child  ? " 

"  You  did,  you  did,  you  noble,  noble  woman ;  and  Heaven  bless 
you  for  it !  A  ftxther  does.  I  am  not  all  heartless,  Caroline,  as  you 
deem  me,  perhaps." 

"  I  don't  think  it's  much  merit,  your  loving  him,"  says  Caroline, 
resuming  her  sewing.  And,  perhaps,  she  thinks  within  herself, 
"  What  is  he  a-coming  to  1 "  You  see  she  was  a  shrewd  little  person, 
when  her  passions  and  partialities  did  not  overcome  her  reason ; 
and  she  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  elegant  Dr.  Firmin, 
whom  she  had  admired  so  once,  was  a — not  altogether  veracious 
gentleman.  In  fact,  I  heard  her  myself  say  afterwards,  "  La !  he 
used  to  talk  so  fine,  and  slap  his  hand  on  his  heart,  you  know ;  but 
I  usedn't  to  believe  him,  no  more  than  a  man  in  a  play."  "  It's  not 
much  merit  your  loving  that  boy,"  says  Caroline,  then.  "  But  what 
about  him,  sir  1 " 

Then  Firmin  explained.  This  man  Hunt  was  capable  of  any 
crime  for  money  or  revenge.     Seeing  Caroline  was  alive  .  .  . 

"  I  s'pose  you  told  him  I  was  dead  too,  sir,"  says  she,  looking 
up  from  the  work. 

"  Spare  me,  spare  me  !  Years  ago,  perhaps,  when  I  had  lost 
sight  of  you,  I  may,  perhaps,  have  thought •" 

"  And  it's  not  to  you,  George  Brandon — it's  not  to  you,"  cries 
Caroline,  starting  up,  and  speaking  with  her  sweet  innocent  ringing 
voice ;  "  it's  to  kind  dear  friends, — it's  to  my  good  God  that  I  owe 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     213 

my  life,  which  you  had  flung  it  away.  And  I  paid  you  back  by 
guarding  your  boy's  dear  life,  I  did,  under — under  Him  who  giveth 
and  taketh.     And  bless  His  name  !  " 

"  You  are  a  good  woman,  and  I  am  a  bad  sinful  man,  Caroline," 
says  the  other.  "  You  saved  my  Philip's — our  Philip's  life,  at  the 
risk  of  your  own.  Now  I  tell  you  that  another  immense  danger 
menaces  him,  and  may  come  upon  him  any  day  as  long  as  yonder 
scoundrel  is  alive.  Suppose  his  character  is  assailed ;  suppose, 
thinking  you  dead,  I  married  another  ? " 

"  All,  George,  you  never  thought  me  dead ;  though,  perhaps,  you 
wished  it,  sir.  And  many  would  have  died,"  added  the  poor  Little 
Sister. 

"  Look,  Caroline  !  If  I  was  married  to  you,  my  wife — Philip's 
mother — was  not  my  wife,  and  he  is  her  natural  son.  The  ])roperty 
he  inherits  does  not  belong  to  him.  The  children  of  his  grand- 
father's other  daughter  claim  it,  and  Philip  is  a  beggar.  Philip, 
bred  as  he  has  been — Philip,  the  heir  to  a  mother's  large  fortune." 

"  And — and  his  father's  too  1 "  asks  Caroline  anxiously. 

"  I  daren't  tell  you — though,  no,  by  heavens  !  I  can  trust  you 
with  everything.  My  own  great  gains  have  been  swallowed  up  in 
speculations  which  have  been  almost  all  fatal.  There  has  been  a 
fate  hanging  over  me,  Caroline — a  righteous  punishment  for  having 
deserted  you.  I  sleep  witli  a  sword  over  my  head,  which  may  fall 
and  destroy  me.  I  walk  with  a  volcano  under  my  feet,  which  may 
burst  any  day  and  anniliilate  me.  And  people  speak  of  the  famous 
Dr.  Firmin,  the  rich  Dr.  Firmin,  the  prosperous  Dr.  Firmin  !  I 
shall  have  a  title  soon,  I  believe.  I  am  believed  to  be  happy,  and  I 
am  alone,  and  tlie  wretchedest  man  alive." 

"Alone,  are  you?"  said  Caroline.  "There  was  a  woman  once 
would  have  kept  by  you,  only  you — you  flung  her  away.  Look 
hers,  George  Brandon.  It's  over  with  us.  Years  and  years  ago  it 
lies  where  a  little  cherub  was  buried.  But  I  love  my  Philip ;  and  I 
won't  hurt  him,  no,  never,  never,  never  !  " 

And  as  the  Doctor  turned  to  go  away,  Caroline  followed  him 
wistfully  into  the  hall,  and  it  was  there  that  Philip  found  them. 

Caroline's  tender  "  never,  never,"  rang  in  Philii)'s  memory  as  he 
sat  at  Ridley's  party,  amidst  the  artists  and  authors  there  assembled. 
Phil  Wixs  thoughtful  and  silent.  He  did  not  laugh  very  loud.  He 
did  not  praise  or  abuse  anybody  outrageously,  as  was  the  wont  of 
that  most  emphatic  young  gentleman.  He  scarcely  contradicted  a 
single  person  ;  and  ])erhaps,  when  Larkins  said  Scunible's  last  pic- 
ture was  beautiful,  or  Bunch,  tlie  critic  of  the  Connoisseur,  praised 
Bowman's  last  novel,  contented  himself  with  a  scornful  "  Ho  !  "  and 
a  pull  at  his  whiskers,  by  way  of  protest  and  denial.     Had  he  been 


214  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

in  his  usual  fine  spirits,  and  enjoying  his  ordinary  flow  of  talk,  he 
would  have  informed  Larkins  and  the  assembled  company  not  only 
that  Scumble  was  an  impostor,  but  that  he,  Larkins,  was  an  idiot 
for  admiring  him.  He  would  have  informed  Bunch  that  he  was 
infatuated  about  that  jackass  Bowman,  that  cockney,  that  wretched 
ignoramus,  who  didn't  know  his  own  or  any  other  language.  He 
would  have  taken  down  one  of  Bowman's  stories  from  the  shelf,  and 
proved  the  folly,  imbecility,  and  crass  ignorance  of  that  author. 
(Ridley  has  a  simple  little  stock  of  novels  and  poems  in  an  old 
cabinet  in  his  studio,. and  reads  them  still  with  much  artless  wonder 
and  respect.)  Or,  to  be  sure,  Phil  would  have  asserted  propositions 
the  exact  contrary  of  those  here  maintained,  and  declared  that 
Bowman  was  a  genius,  and  Scumble  a  most  accomplished  artist. 
But  then,  you  know,  somebody  else  must  have  commenced  by  taking 
the  other  side.  Certainly  a  more  paradoxical,  and  provoking,  and 
obstinate,  and  contradictory  disputant  than  Mr.  Phil  I  never  knew. 
I  never  met  Dr.  Johnson,  who  died  before  I  came  up  to  town ;  but 
I  do  believe  Phil  Firmin  would  have  stood  up  and  argued  even 
with  him. 

At  these  Thursday  divans  the  host  provided  the  modest  and 
kindly  refreshment,  and  Betsy  the  maid,  or  Virgilio  the  model, 
travelled  to  and  fro  with  glasses  and  water.  Each  guest  brought 
his  own  smoke,  and  I  promise  you  there  were  such  liberal  con- 
tributions of  the  article,  that  the  studio  was  full  of  it ;  and  new- 
comers used  to  be  saluted  by  a  roar  of  laughter  as  you  heard, 
rather  than  saw,  them  entering,  and  choking  in  the  fog.  It  was, 
"  Holloa,  Prodgers !  is  that  you,  old  boy  1 "  and  tlie  beard  of 
Prodgers  (that  famous  sculptor)  would  presently  loom  through 
the  cloud.  It  was  "  Newcome,  how  goes'?"  and  Mr.  Olive  New- 
come  (a  mediocre  artist,  I  must  own,  but  a  famous  good  fellow, 
witli  an  uncommonly  pretty  villa  and  pretty  and  rich  wife  at 
Wimbledon)  would  make  his  appearance,  and  be  warmly  greeted 
by  our  little  host.  It  was  "  Is  that  you,  F.  B.  1  would  you  like  a 
link,  old  boy,  to  see  you  through  the  fog  1 "  And  the  deep  voice 
of  Freilerick  Bayham,  Esquire  (the  eminent  critic  on  Art),  would 
boom  out  of  the  tobacco-mist,  and  would  exclaim  "  A  link  1  I 
would  like  a  drink."  Ah,  ghosts  of  youth,  again  ye  draw  near! 
Old  figures  glimmer  through  the  cloud.  Old  songs  echo  out  of 
the  distance.  What  were  you  saying  anon  about  Dr.  Johnson, 
boys?  I  am  sure  some  of  us  must  remember  him.  As  for  me, 
I  am  so  old,  that  I  might  have  been  at  Edial  school — the  other 
15upil  along  with  little  Davy  Garrick  and  his  brother. 

We  had  a  bachelor's  supper  in  the  Temple  so  lately  that  I 
think  we  must  pay  but  a  very  brief  visit  to  a  smoking  party  in 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     215 

Thornhaugh  Street,  or  the  ladies  will  say  that  we  are  too  fond  of 
bachelor  habits,  and  keep  our  friends  away  from  their  charming 
and  amiable  society.  A  novel  must  not  smell  of  cigars  much,  nor 
should  its  refined  and  genteel  page  be  stained  with  too  frequent 
brandy-and-water.  Please  to  imagine,  then,  the  prattle  of  the 
artists,  authors,  and  amateurs  assembled  at  Ridley's  divan.  Fancy 
Jarman,  the  miniature  painter,  drinking  more  liquor  than  any  man 
present,  asking  his  neighbour  {sub  voce)  why  Ridley  does  not  give 
his  father  (the  old  butler)  five  shillings  to  wait ;  suggesting  that 
])erhaps  the  old  man  is  gone  out,  and  is  getting  seven-and-sixpence 
elsewhere ;  praising  Ridley's  picture  aloud,  and  sneering  at  it  in  an 
undertone  ;  and  when  a  man  of  rank  happens  to  enter  the  room, 
sliambling  up  to  him  and  fawning  on  him,  and  cringing  to  him 
with  fulsome  praise  and  flattery.  When  the  gentleman's  back  is 
turned,  Jarman  can  spit  epigrams  at  it.  I  hope  he  will  never 
forgive  Ridley,  and  always  continue  to  hate  hinr  :  for  hate  him 
Jarman  will,  as  long  as  he  is  prosperous,  and  curse  him  as  long  as 
the  world  esteems  him.  Look  at  Pym,  the  incumbent  of  Saint 
Bronze  hard  by,  coming  in  to  join  the  literary  and  artistic  assembly, 
and  choking  in  his  white  neckcloth  to  the  diversion  of  all  the 
company  who  can  see  him  !  Sixteen,  eighteen,  twenty  men  are 
assembled.  Open  the  windows,  or  sure  they  will  all  be  stifled 
with  the  smoke  !  Why,  it  fills  the  whole  house  so,  that  tlie  Little 
Sister  has  to  open  her  parlour  window  on  the  ground-floor,  and 
gasp  for  fresh  air. 

Phil's  head  and  cigar  are  thrust  out  from  a  window  above,  and 
he  lolls  there,  musing  about  his  own  aftairs,  as  his  smoke  ascends 
to  the  skies.  Young  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  known  to  be  wealthy, 
and  his  father  gives  very  good  i)arties  in  Old  Parr  Street,  so 
Jarman  sidles  up  to  Phil  and  wants  a  little  fresh  air  too.  He 
enters  into  conversation  by  abusing  Ridley's  picture  that  is  on 
the  easel. 

"  Everybody  is  praising  it !  what  do  you  think  of  it,  Mr. 
Firmin  1     Very  queer  drawing  about  those  eyes,  isn't  there  1 " 

"  Is  there  \  "  growls  Phil. 

"  Very  loud  colour." 

"  Oh  !  "  says  Phil. 

"  The  composition  is  so  clearly  prigged  from  Raphael." 

"  Indeed  !  " 

"I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  think  you  know  wlio  I  am," 
continues  the  other,  with  a  simper. 

"Yes,  I  do,"  says  Plul,  glaring  at  him.  "You're  a  ])ainter  and 
your  name  is  Mr.  Envy." 

"  Sir ! "  shrieks   the   painter ;  but   he  is  addressing  himself  to 


2I6  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tlie  tails  of  Phil's  coat,  the  superior  half  of  Mr.  Firmin's  body  is 
stretching  out  of  the  window.  Now,  you  may  speak  of  a  man 
behind  his  back,  but  not  to  him.  So  Mr.  Jarman  withdraws,  and 
addresses  himself,  face  to  face,  to  somebody  else  in  the  company. 
I  daresay  he  abuses  that  upstart,  impudent,  bumiDtious  young  doctor's 
son.  Have  I  not  owned  that  Philip  was  often  very  rude  ?  and  to- 
night he  is  in  a  specially  bad  humour. 

As  he  continues  to  stare  into  the  street,  who  is  that  who  has 
just  reeled  up  to  the  railings  below,  and  is  talking  in  at  Mrs. 
Brandon's  window  1  Whose  blackguard  voice  and  laugh  are  those 
which  Phil  recognises  with  a  shudder?  It  is  the  voice  and  laugh 
of  our  friend  Mr.  Hunt,  whom  Philii)  left  not  very  long  since,  near 
his  father's  house  in  Old  Parr  Street ;  and  both  of  tliose  familiar 
sounds  are  more  vinous,  more  odious,  more  imjjudent  than  they 
were  even  two  hours  ago. 

"  Holloa  !  I  say  ! "  he  calls  out  with  a  laugh  and  a  curse. 
"  Pst !  Mrs.  What-d'you-call-'em  !  Hang  it !  don't  shut  the  window. 
Let  a  fellow  in  ! "  and  as  he  looks  towards  the  upper  window, 
where  Philip's  head  and  bust  appear  dark  before  the  light,  Hunt 
cries  out,  "Holloa!  what  game's  up  now,  I  wonder?  Supper  and 
ball.  Shouldn't  be  surprised."  And  he  hiccups  a  waltz  tune,  and 
clatters  time  to  it  with  his  dirty  boots. 

"Mrs.  What  -  d'you  -  call !  Mrs.  B— !  "  the  sot  then  recom- 
mences to  shriek  out.  "  Must  see  you — most  particular  business. 
Private  and  confidential.  Hear  of  something  to  your  advantage." 
And  rap,  rap,  rap,  he  is  now  thundering  at  the  door.  In  the  clatter 
of  twenty  voices  few  hear  Hunt's  noise  except  Philip ;  or,  if  they 
do,  only  imagine  that  another  of  Ridley's  guests  is  arriving. 

At  the  hall-door  there  is  talk  and  altercation,  and  the  high 
shriek  of  a  well-known  odious  voice.  Philip  moves  quickly  from 
his  window,  shoulders  friend  Jarman  at  the  studio  door,  and  hustling 
past  him  obtains,  no  doubt,  more  good  wishes  from  that  ingenious 
artist.  Philip  is  so  rude  and  overbearing  that  I  really  have  a  mind 
to  depose  him  from  his  place  of  hero — only,  you  see,  we  are  com- 
mitted. His  name  is  on  the  page  overhead,  and  we  can't  take  it 
down  and  put  up  another.  The  Little  Sister  is  standing  in  her  hall 
by  the  just  opened  door,  and  remonstrating  with  Mr.  Hunt,  who 
appears  to  wish  to  force  his  way  in. 

"  Pooh  !  shtuff,  my  dear !  If  he's  here  I  musht  see  him — 
particular  business — get  out  of  that ! "  and  he  reels  forward  and 
against  little  Caroline's  shoulder. 

"  Get  away,  you  brute,  you ! "  cries  the  little  lady.  "  Go 
home,  Mr.  Hunt  ;  you  are  worse  than  you  were  this  morning."  She 
is  a  resolute  little  woman,  and  puts  out  a  firm  little  arm  against 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     217 

this  odious  invader.  She  has  seen  patients  in  hospital  raging  in 
fever  :  she  is  not  frightened  by  a  tipsy  man.  "  La  !  is  it  you,  Mr. 
Philip  1  Who  ever  Avill  take  this  liorrid  man  1  He  ain't  fit  to  go 
upstairs  among  the  gentlemen  ;  indeed  he  ain't." 

"  You  said  Firmin  was  here — and  it  isn't  the  father.  It's  tlie 
cub!  I  want  the  Doctor.  Where's  the  Doctor  1"  hiccups  the 
chaplain,  lurching  against  the  wall;  and  then  he  looks  at  Philip 
Avith  bloodshot  eyes,  that  twinkle  hate.  "Who  wantsh  you,  I 
shlike  to  know  1  Had  enough  of  you  already  to-day.  Conceited 
brute.  Don't  look  at  me  in  that  sortaway  !  I  ain't  afraid  of  you — 
ain't  afraid  anybody.  Time  was  when  I  was  a  young  man  fight  you 
as  soon  as  look  at  you.     I  say,  Philip  !  " 

"  Go  home,  now.  Do  go  home,  there's  a  good  man,"  says  the 
landlady. 

"  I  say !  Look  here — hie — hi !  Philip  !  On  your  word  as  a 
gentleman,  your  fiither's  not  here?  He's  a  sly  old  boots,  Brummell 
Firmin  is — Trinity  man — I'm  not  a  Trinity  man — Corpus  man.  I 
say,  Philip,  give  us  your  hand.  Bear  no  malice.  Look  here — 
something  very  particular.  After  dinner — went  into  Air  Street — 
you  know — rouge  gagne,  et  couleur — cleaned  out.  Cleaned  out,  on 
the  honour  of  a  gentleman  and  master  of  arts  of  the  University  of 
Cambridge.  So  was  your  father — no,  he  went  out  in  medicine.  I 
say,  Philip,  hand  us  out  five  sovereigns,  and  let's  try  the  luck 
again  !     What,  you  won't !     It's  mean,  I  say.     Don't  be  mean." 

"Oh,  here's  five  shillings!  Go  and  have  a  cab.  Fetch  a  cab 
for  him,  Virgilio,  do  !  "  cries  the  mistress  of  the  house. 

"  That's  not  enough,  my  dear ! "  cries  the  chaplain,  advancing 
towards  Mrs.  Brandon,  with  such  a  leer  and  air,  that  Philip,  lialf 
choked  with  passion,  runs  forward,  grips  Hunt  by  the  collar,  and 
crying  out,  "  You  filthy  scoundrel !  as  this  is  not  my  house,  I  may 
kick  you  out  of  it  ! " — in  another  instant  has  run  Hunt  through  the 
passage,  hurled  him  down  the  steps,  and  sent  him  sprawling  into 
the  kennel. 

"  Row  down  below,"  says  Rosebury  i>lacidly,  looking  from 
above.  "Personal  confiict.  Intoxicated  individual  —  in  gutter. 
Our  impetuous  friend  has  floored  him." 

Hunt,  after  a  moment,  sits  up  and  glares  at  Philip.  He  is 
not  hurt.  Perhaps  the  shock  has  sobere<l  him.  He  thinks,  ])er- 
haps,  Philip  is  going  to  strike  again.  "Hands  ofl",  Bastard!" 
shrieks  out  the  prostrate  wretch. 

"  0  Philip,  Philii)  !  he's  mad,  he's  tipsy  ! "  cries  out  the  Little 
Sister,  running  into  the  street.  She  puts  lier  arms  round  Philip. 
"  Don't  mind  him,  dear — he's  mad  !  Policeman  !  The  gentleman 
has  had  too  much.     Conic  in,  Pliili])  ;  come  in  !  " 


218  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

She  took  hira  into  her  little  room.  She  was  pleased  with  the 
gallantry  of  the  boy.  She  liked  to  see  him  just  now  standing 
over  lier  enemy,  courageous,  victorious,  her  champion.  "La!  how 
savage  he  did  look ;  and  how  brave  and  strong  you  are  !  But  the 
little  wretch  ain't  fit  to  stand  before  such  as  you  !  "  And  she  passed 
her  little  hand  down  his  arm,  of  whicli  the  muscles  were  all  in  a 
quiver  from  the  recent  skirmish. 

"  What  did  the  scoundrel  mean  by  calling  me  bastard  1 "  said 
Philip,  the  wild  blue  eyes  glaring  round  about  with  more  than 
ordinary  fierceness. 

"  Nonsense,  dear  !  Who  minds  anything  he  says,  that  beast  ? 
His  language  is  always  horrid  ;  he's  not  a  gentleman.  He  liad  had 
too  much  this  morning  when  he  was  here.  What  matters  what  he 
says  1  He  won't  know  anything  about  it  to-morrow.  But  it  was 
kind  of  my  Philip  to  rescue  his  poor  little  nurse,  wasn't  it  1  Like 
a  novel.  Come  in,  and  let  me  make  you  some  tea.  Don't  go 
to  no  more  smoking :  you  have  had  enough.  Come  in  and  talk 
to  me." 

And,  as  a  mother,  with  sweet  pious  face,  yearns  to  her  little 
children  from  her  seat,  she  fondles  him,  she  watches  him  ;  she  fills 
her  tea-pot  from  her  singing  kettle.  She  talks — talks  in  her  homely 
way,  and  on  this  subject  and  that.  It  is  a  wonder  how  she  prattles 
on,  wlio  is  generally  rather  silent.  She  won't  see  Phil's  eyes,  which 
are  following  her  about   very  strangely  and  fiercely.     And  when 

again  he  mutters,  "  What  did  he  mean  by "     "  La,  my  dear, 

how  cross  you  are  !  "  she  breaks  out.  "  It's  always  so  ;  you  won't 
be  happy  without  your  cigar.  Here's  a  cheroot,  a  beauty  !  Pa 
brouglit  it  home  from  the  club.  A  China  captain  gave  him  some. 
You  must  light  it  at  the  little  end.  There  !  "  And  if  I  could  draw 
the  picture  which  my  mind  sees  of  her  lighting  Phil's  cheroot  for 
him,  and  smiling  the  while,  the  little  innocent  Delilah  coaxing  and 
wheedling  this  young  Samson,  I  know  it  would  be  a  pretty  picture. 
I  wish  Ridley  would  sketch  it  for  me. 


CHAPTER   XII 

DAMOCLES 

ON  the  next  morning,  at  an  hour  so  early  that  Old  Parr  Street 
was  scarce  awake,  and  even  the  maids  wlio  wash  the  broad 
steps  of  the  houses  of  the  tailors  and  medical  gentlemen  who 
inhabit  that  region  had  not  yet  gone  down  on  their  knees  before  their 
respective  doors,  a  ring  was  heard  at  Dr.  Finnin's  night-bell,  and  when 
the  door  was  opened  by  the  yawning  attendant,  a  little  person  in  a 
grey  gown  and  a  black  bonnet  made  her  appearance,  handed  a  note 
to  the  servant,  and  said  the  cnse  was  most  urgent  and  the  Doctor 
must  come  at  once.  Was  not  Lady  Humandhaw  the  noble  person 
whom  we  last  mentioned,  as  the  invalid  about  whom  the  Doctor  and 
the  nurse  had  spoken  a  few  words  on  the  previous  evening?  The 
Little  Sister,  for  it  was  she,  used  the  very  same  name  to  the  servant, 
who  retired  grumbling  to  waken  up  his  master  and  deliver  the  note. 

Nurse  Brandon  sat  a  while  in  the  great  gaunt  dining-room  where 
hung  the  portrait  of  the  Doctor  in  his  sjilcndid  black  collar  and 
cuffs,  and  contemplated  this  masterpiece,  until  an  invasion  of  house- 
maids drove  her  from  the  apartment,  when  she  took  refuge  in  that 
other  little  room  to  which  Mrs.  Finnin's  portrait  had  been  con- 
signed. 

"  That's  like  him  ever  so  many  years  and  years  ago,"  slie  tliinks. 
"It  is  a  little  handsomer;  but  it  has  his  wicked  look  that  I  used 
to  think  so  killing,  and  so  did  my  sisters,  both  of  them — they  were 
ready  to  tear  out  each  other's  eyes  for  jealousy.  And  that's  Mrs. 
Firmin  !  Well,  I  su])j)ose  the  painter  haven't  flattered  lier.  If  he 
have  she  could  liave  been  no  great  things,  Mrs.  F.  cDuldn't."  And 
the  Doctor,  entering  softly  by  the  opened  door  and  over  the  thick 
Turkey  carpet,  comes  up  to  her  noiselessly,  and  finds  the  Little 
Sister  gazing  at  the  i)ortrait  of  the  departed  lady. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it "?  I  wonder  whether  yon  treated  lier  no 
better  than  you  treated  me,  Dr.  F.  I've  a  notion  she's  not  the 
only  one.     Siie  don't  look  happy,  poor  thing  !  "  says  the  little  lady. 

"  What  is  it,  Caroline  1 "  asks  the  deep-voiced  Doctor ;  "  and 
what  brings  you  so  early?" 

The  Little  Sister  then  exi)lains  to  hiui.      "Last  night  after  he 


220  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

■went  away  Hunt  came  sure  enough.  He  had  been  drinking.  He 
was  very  rude,  and  Philip  wouldn't  bear  it.  Philip  had  a  good 
courage  of  his  own  and  a  hot  blood.  And  Phihp  thought  Hunt 
was  insulting  her,  the  Little  Sister.  So  he  up  with  his  hand  and 
down  goes  Mr.  Hunt  on  the  pavement.  Well,  when  he  was  down 
he  was  in  a  dreadful  way,  and  he  called  Philip  a  dreadful  name." 

"  A  name  1  what  name  ?  "  Then  Caroline  told  the  Doctor  the 
name  Mr.  Hunt  had  used ;  and  if  Firmin's  face  usually  looked 
wicked,  I  daresay  it  did  not  seem  very  angelical  when  he  heard 
how  this  odious  name  had  been  applied  to  his  son.  "  Can  he  do 
Philip  a  mischief?  "  Caroline  continued.  "  I  thought  I  was  bound  to 
tell  his  father.  Look  here,  Dr.  F.,  I  don't  want  to  do  my  dear  boy 
a  harm.  But  suppose  what  you  told  me  last  night  isn't  true — as  I 
don't  think  you  much  mind  ! — mind — saying  things  as  are  incorrect, 
you  know,  when  us  women  are  in  the  case.  But  suppose  when  you 
played  the  villain,  thinking  only  to  take  in  a  poor  innocent  girl  of 
sixteen,  it  was  you  who  were  took  in,  and  that  I  was  your  real 
wife  after  all  1     There  would  be  a  punishment !  " 

"  I  should  have  an  honest  and  good  wife,  Carohne,"  said  the 
Doctor,  with  a  groan. 

"  This  would  be  a  punishment,  not  for  you,  but  for  my  poor 
Philip,"  the  woman  goes  on.  "  What  has  he  done,  that  his  honest 
name  should  be  took  from  him — and  his  fortune  perhaps  1  I  have 
been  lying  broad  awake  all  night  thinking  of  him.  Ah,  George 
Brandon  !  Why,  why  did  you  come  to  my  poor  old  father's  house, 
and  bring  this  misery  down  on  me,  and  on  your  child  unborn  1 " 

"  On  myself,  the  worst  of  all,"  says  the  Doctor. 

"  You  deserve  it.  But  it's  us  innocent  that  has  had,  or  will 
have,  to  suffer  most.  0  George  Brandon  !  Think  of  a  poor  child, 
flung  away,  and  left  to  starve  and  die,  without  even  so  much  as 
knowing  your  real  name  !  Think  of  your  boy,  perhaps  brought  to 
shame  and  poverty  through  your  fault  ! " 

"  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  often  think  of  my  wrong  ? "  says  the 
Doctor.  "  That  it  does  not  cause  me  sleepless  nights,  and  hours  of 
anguish  1  Ah  !  Caroline  !  "  and  he  looks  in  the  glass.  "  I  am  not 
shaved,  and  it's  very  unbecoming,"  he  thinks ;  that  is,  if  I  may 
dare  to  read  his  thoughts,  as  I  do  to  report  his  unheard  words. 

"  You  think  of  your  wrong  now  it  may  be  found  out,  I  dare- 
say ! "  says  Caroline.  "  Suppose  this  Hunt  turns  against  you  1 
He  is  desperate ;  mad  for  drink  and  money ;  has  been  in  gaol — as 
he  said  this  very  night  to  me  and  my  papa.  He'll  do  or  say  any- 
thing. If  you  treat  him  hard,  and  Philip  have  treated  him  hard — 
not  harder  than  served  him  right,  tliough — he'll  pull  the  house 
down  and  himself  under  it  but  he'll  be  revenged.     Perhaps  he  drank 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     221 

so  much  last  night  that  he  may  have  forgot.  But  I  fear  lie  means 
mischief,  and  I  came  here  to  say  so,  and  hoping  that  you  might  be 
kep'  on  your  guard,  Doctor  F.,  and  if  you  have  to  quarrel  with  him, 
I  don't  know  what  you  ever  will  do,  I  am  sure — no  more  than  if 
you  had  to  fight  a  chimney-sweep  in  the  street.  I  have  been  awake 
all  night  thinking,  and  as  soon  as  ever  I  saw  the  daylight,  I  deter- 
mined I  would  run  and  tell  you." 

"When  he  called  Philip  that  name,  did  the  boy  seem  much 
disturbed  1 "  asked  the  Doctor. 

"Yes;  he  referred  to  it  again  and  again — though  I  tried  to 
coax  him  out  of  it.  But  it  was  on  his  mind  last  night,  and  I  am 
sure  he  will  think  of  it  the  first  thing  this  morning.  Ah,  yes. 
Doctor  !  conscience  will  sometimes  let  a  gentleman  doze  ;  but  after 
discovery  has  come,  and  opened  your  curtains,  and  said,  '  You 
desired  to  be  called  early  ! '  there's  little  use  in  trying  to  sleep 
much.  You  look  very  much  frightened,  Doctor  F.,"  the  nurse 
continues.  "  You  haven't  such  a  courage  as  Philip  has ;  or  as  you 
had  when  you  were  a  young  man,  and  came  a-leading  poor  girls 
astray.  You  used  to  be  afraid  of  nothing  then.  Do  you  remember 
that  fellow  on  board  the  steamboat  in  Scotland  in  our  wedding-trip, 
and,  la !  I  thought  you  was  going  to  kill  him.  That  poor  little 
Lord  Cinqbars  told  me  ever  so  many  stories  then  about  your  courage 
and  shooting  people.  It  wasn't  very  courageous,  leaving  a  poor 
girl  without  even  a  name,  and  scarce  a  guinea,  was  it  1  But  I  ain't 
come  to  call  up  old  stories — only  to  warn  you.  Even  in  old  times, 
when  he  married  us,  and  I  thought  he  was  doing  a  kindness,  I  never 
could  abide  this  horrible  man.  In  Scotland,  when  you  was  away 
shooting  with  yoiu'  poor  little  lord,  the  things  Hunt  used  to  say  and 
look  was  dreadful.  I  wonder  how  ever  you,  who  were  gentlemen, 
could  put  up  with  such  a  fellow  !  Ah,  that  was  a  sad  honeymoon 
of  ours  !  I  wonder  why  I'm  a-thinking  of  it  now  %  I  suppose  it's 
from  having  seen  the  picture  of  the  other  one — poor  lady  ! " 

"  I  have  told  you,  Caroline,  that  I  was  so  wild  and  des})crate 
at  that  unhappy  time,  I  was  scarcely  accountable  for  my  actions. 
If  I  left  you,  it  was  because  I  had  no  other  resource  but  flight.  I 
was  a  ruined,  penniless  man,  but  for  my  marriage  with  Ellen  Ring- 
wood.  You  don't  suppose  the  marriage  was  happy  ?  Happy ! 
when  have  I  ever  been  hapjiy'?  ]\Iy  lot  is  to  be  wretched,  and 
bring  wretchedness  down  on  those  I  love  !  On  you,  on  my  father, 
on  my  wife,  on  my  boy — I  am  a  doomed  man.  Ah,  that  the  inno- 
cent should  siitfer  for  me  !  "  And  our  friend  looks  askance  in  the 
glass,  at  the  blue  chin  and  hollow  eyes  which  make  his  guilt  look 
the  more  haggard. 

"  I  never  had  my  lines,"  the  Little  Sister  continued  ;  "  I  never 


222  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

knew  there  were  papers,  or  writings,  or  anything  but  a  ring  and  a 
clergyman,  when  you  married  me.  But  I've  heard  tell  that  people 
in  Scotland  don't  want  a  clergyman  at  all ;  and  if  they  call  them- 
selves man  and  wife,  they  are  man  and  wife.  Now,  sir,  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Brandon  certainly  did  travel  together  in  Scotland — witness 
that  man  whom  you  were  going  to  throw  into  the  lake  for  being 
rude  to  your  wife — and  ...  La  !  don't  fly  out  so  !  It  wasn't  me, 
a  poor  girl  of  sixteen,  who  did  wrong.  It  was  you,  a  man  of  the 
world,  who  was  years  and  years  older." 

When  Brandon  carried  off  his  poor  little  victim  and  wife,  there 
had  been  a  journey  to  Scotland,  where  Lord  Cinqbars,  then  alive, 
had  sporting  quarters.  His  Lordship's  chaplain,  Mr.  Hunt,  had 
been  of  tlie  party,  which  fate  very  soon  afterwards  separated. 
Death  seized  on  Cinqbars  at  Naples.  Debt  caused  Firmin — 
Brandon,  as  he  called  himself  then — to  fly  the  country.  The 
chaplain  wandered  from  gaol  to  gaol.  And  as  for  poor  little 
Caroline  Brandon,  I  suppose  the  husband  who  had  married  her 
under  a  false  name  thought  that  to  escape  her,  leave  her,  and  dis- 
own her  altogether  was  an  easier  and  less  dangerous  plan  than  to 
continue  relations  with  her.  So  one  day,  four  months  after  their 
marriage,  the  young  couple  being  then  at  Dover,  Caroline's  husband 
happened  to  go  out  for  a  walk.  But  he  sent  away  a  portmanteau 
by  the  back-door  when  he  went  out  for  the  walk,  and  as  Caroline 
was  waiting  for  lier  little  dinner  some  hours  after,  the  porter  who 
carried  the  luggage  came  with  a  little  note  from  her  dearest  G.  B. ; 
and  it  was  full  of  little  fond  expressions  of  regard  and  affection,  such 
as  gentlemen  put  into  little  notes ;  but  dearest  Gr.  B.  said  the  bailiffs 
were  upon  him,  and  one  of  them  had  arrived  that  morning,  and  he 
must  fly :  and  he  took  half  the  money  he  had,  and  left  half  for  his 
little  Carry.  And  he  woukl  be  back  soon,  and  arrange  matters ; 
or  tell  her  where  to  write  and  follow  him.  And  she  was  to  take 
care  of  her  little  health,  and  to  write  a  great  deal  to  her  Georgy. 
And  she  did  not  know  how  to  write  very  well  then ;  but  she  did 
her  best,  and  improved  a  great  deal ;  for,  indeed,  she  wrote  a  great 
deal,  poor  thing !  Sheets  and  sheets  of  paper  she  blotted  with  ink 
and  tears.  And  then  the  money  was  spent ;  and  the  next  money ; 
and  no  more  came,  and  no  more  letters.  And  she  was  alone  at  sea, 
sinking,  sinking,  when  it  pleased  Heaven  to  send  that  friend  who 
rescueil  her.  It  is  such  a  sad,  sad  little  story,  that  in  fact  I  don't 
like  dwelling  on  it ;  not  caring  to  look  upon  poor  innocent  trusting 
creatures  in  pain. 

.  .  .  Well,  then,  when  Caroline  exclaimed,  "  La !  don't  fly  out 
so,  Dr.  Firmin  ! "  I  suppose  the  Doctor  had  been  crying  out,  and 
swearing  fiercely,  at  the  recollections  of  liis  friend  Mr.  Brandon  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      223 

at  the  danger  which  possibly  hung  over  that  gentleman.  Marriage 
ceremonies  are  dangerous  risks  in  jest  or  in  earnest.  You  can't 
pretend  to  marry  even  a  poor  old  bankrupt  lodging-house  keeper's 
daughter  without  some  risk  of  being  brougJit  subsequently  to  book. 
If  you  have  a  vulgar  wife  alive,  and  afterwards  choose  to  leave  her 
and  marry  an  earl's  niece,  you  will  come  to  trouble,  however  well 
connected  you  are  and  highly  placed  in  society.  If  you  have  had 
thirty  thousand  pounds  with  AVife  No.  2,  and  have  to  pay  it  back 
on  a  sudden,  the  payment  may  be  inconvenient.  You  may  be  tried 
for  bigamy,  and  sentenced  goodness  knows  to  what  jjunishment. 
At  any  rate,  if  the  matter  is  made  public,  and  you  are  a  most  re- 
spectable man,  moving  in  the  highest  scientific  and  social  circles, 
those  circles  may  be  disposed  to  request  you  to  walk  out  of  their 
circumference.  A  novelist,  I  know,  ought  to  have  no  likes,  dislikes, 
l)ity,  partiality  for  his  characters  ;  but  I  declare  I  cannot  help  feel- 
ing a  resjjectful  compassion  for  a  gentleman  who,  in  consequence  of 
a  youthful,  and,  I  am  sure,  sin(;erely  regretted  folly,  may  be  liable 
to  lose  his  fortune,  his  place  in  society,  and  his  considerable  practice. 
Punishment  liasn't  a  right  to  come  with  such  a  pede  dando.  There 
ought  to  be  limitations ;  and  it  is  shabby  and  revengeful  of  Justice 
to  present  her  little  bill  when  it  has  been  more  than  twenty  years 
owing.  .  .  .  Having  had  his  talk  out  with  the  Little  Sister,  having 
a  long  past  crime  suddenly  taken  down  from  the  shelf;  having  a 
remorse  long  since  supposed  to  be  dead  and  buried,  suddenly  start- 
ing uj)  in  the  most  blustering,  boisterous,  inconvenient  manner ; 
having  a  rage  and  terror  tearing  him  within  ;  I  can  fancy  this  most 
respectable  physician  going  about  his  day's  work,  and  most  sincerely 
sym])athise  with  him.  Who  is  to  heal  the  physician?  Is  he  not 
more  sick  at  heart  than  most  of  his  patients  that  day  1  He  has  to 
listen  to  Lady  Megrim  cackling  f(jr  half-an-hour  at  least,  and  de- 
scribing Jier  little  ailments.  He  has  to  listen,  and  never  once  to 
dare  to  say,  "  Confound  you,  old  chatterbox !  What  are  you 
I)rating  about  your  ailments  to  me,  who  am  suffering  real  torture 
whilst  I  am  smirking  in  your  face?"  He  has  to  wear  the  inspirit- 
ing smile,  to  breathe  the  gentle  joke,  to  console,  to  whisper  hope, 
to  administer  remedy ;  and  all  day,  perhaps,  he  sees  no  one  so 
utterly  sick,  so  sad,  so  despairing  as  himself. 

The  first  i)erson  on  wliom  he  had  to  i)ractise  hypocrisy  that  day 
was  his  own  son,  who  chose  to  come  to  breakfost— a  meal  of  which 
son  and  father  seldom  now  partook  in  company.  "What  does  he 
know,  and  what  does  he  sus])ect  ? "  are  tlie  father's  thoughts  ;  but  a 
louring  gloom  is  on  Philip's  face,  and  the  father's  eyes  look  into  the 
sou's  but  cannot  penetrate  their  darkness. 

"  Did  you  stay  late  last  night,  Philip  ? "  says  i)apa. 


224  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Yes,  sir,  rather  late,"  answers  the  son. 

"  Pleasant  party  1 " 

"No,  sir,  stupid.  Your  friend  Mr.  Hunt  wanted  to  come  in. 
He  was  drunk,  and  rude  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  I  was  obliged  to 
put  him  out  of  the  door.     He  was  dreadfully  violent  and  abusive." 

"  Swore  a  good  deal,  I  supposed' 

"  Fiercely,  sir,  and  called  names." 

I  daresay  Philip's  heart  beat  so  when  he  said  these  last  words, 
that  they  were  inaudible  :  at  all  events,  Philip's  father  did  not 
appear  to  pay  much  attention  to  the  words,  for  he  was  busy  reading 
the  Morning  Post,  and  behind  that  sheet  of  fashionable  news  hid 
whatever  expression  of  agony  there  might  be  on  his  face.  Philip 
afterwards  told  his  present  biographer  of  this  breakfast  meeting  and 
dreary  tete-a-tete.  "  I  burned  to  ask  what  was  the  meaning  of  that 
scoundrel's  words  of  the  past  night,"  Philip  said  to  his  biographer; 
"but  I  did  not  dare,  somehow.  You  see,  Pendennis,  it  is  not 
pleasant  to  say  point-blank  to  your  father,  '  Sir,  are  you  a  confh'med 
scoundrel,  or  are  you  not?  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  made  a 
double  marriage,  as  yonder  other  rascal  hinted  ;  and  that  my  own 
legitimacy  and  my  mother's  fair  ftime,  as  well  as  poor  harmless 
Caroline's  honour  and  happiness,  have  been  destroyed  by  your 
crime"?'  But  I  had  lain  awake  all  night  thinking  about  that 
scoundrel  Hunt's  words,  and  whether  there  was  any  meaning  beyond 
drunken  malice  in  what  he  said."  So  we  find  that  three  people 
had  passed  a  bad  night  in  consequence  of  Mr.  Firmin's  evil 
behaviour  of  five-and-twenty  years  back,  which  surely  was  a  most 
unreasonable  punishment  for  a  sin  of  such  old  date.  I  wish,  dearly 
beloved  brother  sinners,  we  could  take  all  the  punishment  for  our 
individual  crimes  on  our  individual  shoulders :  but  we  drag  them  all 
down  with  us— that  is  the  fact ;  and  when  Macheath  is  condemned 
to  hang,  it  is  Polly  and  Lucy  who  have  to  weep  and  suffer  and 
wear  piteous  mourning  in  their  hearts  long  after  the  dare-devil 
rogue  has  jumped  off  the  Tyburn  ladder. 

"  Well,  sir,  he  did  not  say  a  word,"  said  Philip,  recounting  the 
meeting  to  his  friend ;  "  not  a  word,  at  least,  regarding  the  matter 
both  of  us  had  on  our  hearts.  But  about  fashion,  parties,  politics 
he  discoursed  much  more  freely  than  was  usual  with  him.  He 
said  I  might  have  had  Lord  Ringwood's  seat  for  Whipham  but  for 
my  unfortunate  politics.  What  made  a  Radical  of  me,  he  asked, 
who  was  naturally  one  of  the  most  haughty  of  men"?  ("and  that,  I 
think,  perhaps  I  am,"  says  Phil,  "  and  a  good  many  Liberal  fellows 
are  ").  I  should  calm  down,  he  was  sure — I  should  calm  down, 
and  be  of  the  politics  des  hommes  du  monde." 

Philip  could  not  say  to  his  father,  "Sir,  it  is  seeing  you  cringe 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      225 

before  great  ones  that  has  set  my  own  back  up."  There  Avere 
countless  points  about  wliich  father  and  son  could  not  speak ;  and 
an  invisible,  unexpressed,  perfectly  unintelligible  mistrust,  always 
wa.^  present  when  those  two  were  tete-a-tete. 

Tlicir  meal  was  scarce  ended  when  entered  to  them  Mr.  Hunt, 
with  his  hat  on.  I  was  not  present  at  the  time,  and  cannot  speak 
as  a  certainty ;  but  I  should  think  at  his  ominous  api)earance 
Philip  may  have  turned  red  and  his  father  pale.  "  Now  is  the 
time,"  l)oth,  I  daresay,  thought ;  and  the  Doctor  remembered  his 
stormy  young  days  of  foreign  gamliling,  intrigue,  and  duel,  when  he 
was  i)ut  on  his  ground  before  liis  adversary,  and  bidden,  at  a  given 
signal,  to  fire.  One,  two,  three  !  Each  man's  hand  was  armed 
with  malice  and  murder.  Philip  had  plenty  of  pluck  for  his  part, 
but  I  should  think  on  such  an  occasion  might  be  a  little  nervous 
and  fluttered,  whereas  his  father's  eye  was  keen,  and  his  aim  rapid 
and  steady. 

"You  and  Philip  had  a  difference  last  night,  Philip  tells  me," 
said  the  Doctor. 

"Yes,  and  I  promised  he  shouhl  pay  me,"  said  the  clergyman. 

"And  I  said  I  should  desire  no  better,"  says  Mr.  Phil. 

"  He  struck  his  senior,  his  ftither's  friend — a  sick  man,  a 
clergyman,"  gasped  Hunt. 

"  Were  you  to  repeat  what  you  did  last  night,  I  should  repeat 
what  I  did,"  said  Phil.      "You  insulted  a  good  woman." 

"  It's  a  lie,  sir,"  cries  the  other. 

"  You  insulted  a  good  woman,  a  lady  in  her  own  house,  and  I 
turned  you  out  of  it,"  said  Phil. 

"  I  say  again,  it  is  a  lie,  sir  ! "  screams  Hunt,  with  a  stamp  on 
the  table. 

"  That  you  should  give  me  the  lie,  or  otherwise,  is  perfectly 
immaterial  to  me.  But  whenever  you  insult  Mrs.  Brandon,  or  any 
harmless  woman  in  my  presence,  I  shall  do  my  best  to  chastise  you," 
cries  Philip  of  the  red  moustaches,  curling  them  with  nmch  dignity. 

"You  hear  him,  Firmin'?"  says  tiie  parson. 

"  Faith,  I  do.  Hunt !  "  says  the  physician  ;  "  and  I  think  he 
means  what  he  says,  too." 

"Oh!  you  take  that  line,  do  you  1"  cries  Hunt  u\'  the  dirty 
hands,  the  dirty  teeth,  the  dirty  neckcloth. 

"  I  take  what  you  call  that  line  ;  and  wijcnever  a  rudeness  is 
offered  to  that  admirable  woman  in  my  son's  hearing,  I  shall  be 
astonished  if  he  does  not  resent  it,"  says  the  Doctor.  "  Thank 
you,  Philip!" 

Tlie  father's  resolute  speech  and  behaviour  gave  Philip  great 
momentary  comfort.  Hunt's  words  of  the  night  before  had  been 
11  P 


226  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

occupying  the  young  man's  thoughts.  Had  Firmin  been  criminal, 
he  could  not  be  so  bold. 

"You  talk  this  way  in  presence  of  your  son?  You  have  been 
talking  over  the  matter  together  before  1 "  asks  Hunt. 

"  We  have  been  talking  over  the  matter  before — yes.  We  were 
engaged  on  it  when  you  came  in  to  breakfast,"  says  the  Doctor. 
"  Shall  we  go  on  with  the  conversation  where  we  left  it  off?" 

"  Well,  do — -that  is,  if  you  dare,"  said  the  clergyman,  somewhat 
astonished. 

"  Philip,  my  dear,  it  is  ill  for  a  man  to  hide  his  head  before  his 
own  son ;  but  if  I  am  to  speak — and  speak  I  must  one  day  or  the 
other — why  not  now  1 " 

"  Why  at  all,  Firmin  1 "  asks  the  clergyman,  astonished  at  the 
other's  rather  sudden  resolve. 

"Why?  Because  I  am  sick  and  tired  of  you,  Mr.  Tufton 
Hunt,"  cries  the  physician,  in  his  most  lofty  manner,  "  of  you  and 
your  presence  in  my  house ;  your  blackguard  behaviour  and  your 
rascal  extortions — because  you  will  force  me  to  speak  one  day  or 
the  other — and  now,  Philip,  if  you  like,  shall  be  the  day." 

"  Hang  it,  I  say  !     Stop  a  bit !  "  cries  the  clergyman. 

"I  understand  you  want  some  more  money  from  me." 

"  I  did  promise  Jacobs  I  would  pay  him  to-day,  and  that  was 
what  made  me  so  sulky  last  night ;  and,  perhaps,  I  took  a  little 
too  much.  You  see  my  mind  was  out  of  order ;  and  what's  the  use 
of  telling  a  story  that  is  no  good  to  any  one,  Firmin — least  of  all  to 
you  ? "  cries  the  parson  darkly. 

"  Because,  you  ruffian,  I'll  bear  with  you  no  more,"  cries  the 
Doctor,  the  veins  of  his  forehead  swelling  as  he  looks  fiercely  at  his 
dirty  adversary.  "  In  the  last  nine  months,  Philip,  this  man  has 
had  nine  hundred  jiounds  from  me." 

"  The  luck  has  been  so  very  bad,  so  bad,  upon  my  honour,  now," 
grumbles  the  parson. 

"  To-morrow  he  will  want  more  ;  and  the  next  day  more  ;  and 
the  next  day  more ;  and,  in  fine,  I  won't  live  with  this  accursed 
man  of  the  sea  round  my  neck.  You  shall  have  the  story ;  and 
Mr.  Hunt  shall  sit  by  and  witness  against  his  own  crime  and  mine. 
I  had  been  very  wild  at  Cambridge,  when  I  was  a  young  man.  I 
had  quarrelled  with  my  father,  lived  with  a  dissipated  set,  and 
beyond  my  means ;  and  had  had  my  debts  paid  so  often  by  your 
grandfather,  that  I  was  afraid  to  ask  for  more.  He  was  stern  to 
me ;  I  was  not  dutiful  to  him.  I  own  my  fault.  Mr.  Hunt  can 
bear  witness  to  what  I  say. 

"  I  was  in  hiding  at  Margate,  under  a  false  name.  You  know 
the  name." 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     227 

"Yes,  sir,  I  think  I  know  the  name,"  Philip  said,  tliinking 
he  Hived  his  father  better  now  tlian  he  had  ever  liked  him  in 
liis  life,  and  sighing,  "  Ah,  if  he  had  always  been  frank  and 
true  with  me  !  " 

"I  took  humble  lodgings  with  an  obscure  family."  [If  Dr. 
Firmin  had  a  prodigious  idea  of  his  own  grandeur  and  imi)ortance, 
you  see  I  cannot  helj)  it — and  he  was  long  held  to  be  such  a 
respectable  man.]  "  And  there  I  found  a  young  girl — one  of  the 
most  innocent  beings  that  ever  a  man  played  with  and  betrayed. 
Betrayed,  I  own  it,  Heaven  forgive  me  !  The  crime  has  been  the 
shame  of  my  life,  and  darkened  my  whole  career  with  misei\y.  I 
got  a  man  worse  than  myself,  if  that  coidd  be.  I  got  Hunt  for  a 
few  pounds,  which  he  owed  me,  to  make  a  sham  marriage  between 
me  and  poor  Caroline.  My  money  was  soon  gone.  My  creditors 
were  after  me.     I  fled  the  country,  and  I  left  her." 

"  A  sham  marriage  !  a  sham  marriage  ! "  cries  the  clergyman. 
"Didn't  you  make  me  ])erform  it  by  holding  a  pistol  to  my  throat  ? 
A  fellow  won't  risk  transportation  for  nothing.  But  I  owed  him 
money  for  cards,  and  he  had  my  bill,  and  he  said  he  would  let 
me  ofl",  and  that's  why  I  helped  him.  Never  mind.  I  am  out  of 
the  business  now,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin,  and  you  are  in  it.  I 
have  read  the  Act,  sir.  The  clergyman  who  performs  the  marriage 
is  liable  to  punishment,  if  informed  against  within  three  years,  and 
it's  twenty  years  or  more.  But  you,  Mr.  Brummell  Firmin, — your 
case  is  different ;  and  you,  my  young  gentleman  with  the  flery 
whiskers,  who  strike  down  old  men  of  a  night — you  may  find 
some  of  us  know  how  to  revenge  ourselves,  though  we  are  down.' 
And  with  this.  Hunt  rushed  to  his  greasy  hat,  and  quitted  tlic 
house,  discliarging  imprecations  at  his  hosts,  as  he  passed  throuuh 
the  hall. 

Son  and  father  sat  a  while  silent,  after  the  departure  of  their 
common  enemy.     At  last  the  father  s})okc. 

"  This  is  the  sword  that  has  always  been  hanging  over  my  head, 
and  it  is  now  falling,  Philip." 

"  What  can  the  man  do  ?  Is  the  first  marriage  a  good 
marriage  1 "  asked  Philip,  with  alarmed  face. 

"It  is  no  marriage.  It  is  void  to  all  intents  and  puri)oses. 
You  may  suppose  I  have  taken  care  to  leani  the  law  about  that. 
Your  legitimacy  is  safe,  sure  enough.  But  tliat  man  can  ruin  me, 
or  nearly  so.  He  will  try  tomorrow,  if  not  to-day.  As  long  as 
you  or  I  can  give  him  a  guinea,  he  will  take  it  to  the  gambling- 
house.  I  had  the  mania  on  me  myself  once.  My  poor  father 
(juarrelled  with  me  in  consdiuence,  and  died  without  seeing  me. 
I  married  your  mother — Heaven  help  her,  poor  soul !  and  forgive 


228  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

me  for  being  but  a  harsh  husband  to  her — with  a  view  of  mending 
my  shattered  fortunes.  I  wished  she  had  been  more  happy,  poor 
thing !  But  do  not  blame  me  utterly,  Philip.  I  was  desperate, 
and  she  wished  for  the  marriage  so  much  !  I  had  good  looks  and 
high  spirits  in  those  days.  People  said  so."  [And  here  he  glances 
oblitpiely  at  his  own  handsome  portrait.]  "  Now  I  am  a  wreck, 
a  wreck  ! " 

"  I  conceive,  sir,  that  this  will  annoy  you ;  but  how  can  it 
ruin  you  1 "  asked  Philip. 

"  What  becomes  of  my  practice  as  a  family  physician  1  The 
practice  is  not  now  what  it  was,  between  oui-selves,  Philip,  and  the 
expenses  greater  than  you  imagine.  I  have  made  unlucky  specu- 
lations. If  you  count  upon  much  increase  of  wealth  from  me,  my 
boy,  you  will  be  disappointed  ;  though  you  were  never  mercenary, 
no,  never.  But  the  story  bruited  about  by  this  rascal,  of  a 
j)hysician  of  enainence  engaged  in  two  marriages,  do  you  suppose 
my  rivals  won't  hear  it,  and  take  advantage  of  it — my  patients 
hear  it,  and  avoid  me  1 " 

"  Make  terms  with  tlie  man  at  once,  then,  sir,  and  silence  him." 

"  To  make  terms  with  a  gambler  is  impossible.  My  purse  is 
always  there  open  for  him  to  thrust  his  hand  into  when  he  loses. 
No  man  can  withstand  sucli  a  temptation.  I  am  glad  you  have 
fiever  fallen  into  it.  I  have  quarrelled  with  you  sometimes  for 
living  with  people  below  your  rank  :  perhaps  you  were  right,  and 
I  was  wrong.  I  have  liked,  always  did,  I  don't  disguise  it,  to 
live  with  persons  of  station.  And  these,  when  I  was  at  the 
university,  taught  me  play  and  exti'avagance ;  and  in  the  world 
haven't  helped  me  mucli.  Who  would '?  'Who  would  1 "  and  the 
Doctor  relapsed  into  meditation. 

A  little  catastrophe  presently  occurred,  after  which  Mr.  Philip 
Firrain  told  me  the  substance  of  this  story.  He  described  his 
father's  long  acquiescence  in  Hiint's  demands,  and  sudden  resistance 
to  them,  and  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  change.  I  did  not 
tell  my  friend  in  express  terms,  but  I  fancied  I  could  account  for 
the  change  of  behaviour.  Dr.  Firmin,  in  his  interviews  with 
Caroline,  had  had  his  mind  set  at  rest  about  one  part  of  his  danger. 
The  Doctor  need  no  longer  fear  the  charge  of  a  double  marriage. 
The  Little  Sister  resigned  her  claims  past,  present,  future. 

If  a  gentleman  is  sentenced  to  be  hanged,  I  wonder  is  it  a 
matter  of  comfort  to  him  or  not  to  know  beforehand  the  day  of  the 
operation '?  Hunt  would  take  his  revenge.  When  and  how  1 
Doctor  Firmin  asked  himself  Nay,  possibly,  you  will  have  to 
learn  that  this  eminent  practitioner  walked  about  with  more  than 
danger  hanging  imminent  over  him.    Perhaps  it  was  a  rope  :  perhaps 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     229 

it  was  a  sword  :  some  weapon  of  execution,  at  any  rate,  as  we 
fj-equently  may  see.  A  day  passes :  no  assassin  darts  at  the 
Doctor  as  he  threads  the  dim  Opera  Colonnade  passage  on  his  way 
to  his  club.  A  week  goes  by  :  no  stiletto  is  plunged  into  his  well- 
wadded  breast  as  he  steps  from  his  carriage  at  some  noble  patient's 
door.  Philip  says  he  never  knew  his  fatlier  more  pleasant,  easy, 
good-humoured,  and  affable  than  during  tliis  period,  when  he  must 
have  felt  that  a  danger  was  hanging  over  him  of  which  his  son  at 
this  time  had  no  idea.  I  dined  in  Old  Parr  Street  once  in  this 
memorable  i)eriod  (memorable  it  seemed  to  me  from  immediately 
subsequent  events).  Never  was  the  dinner  better  served  :  the  wine 
more  excellent :  the  guests  and  conversation  more  gravely  respectable 
than  at  this  entei'tainment ;  and  my  neighbour  remarked  with 
pleasure  how  the  father  and  son  seemed  to  be  on  much  better  terms 
than  ordinary.  The  Doctor  addressed  Philip  i)ointedly  once  or  twice  ; 
alluded  to  his  foreign  travels,  spoke  of  his  mother's  family — it  was 
most  gi'atifying  to  see  the  pair  together.  Day  after  day  passes  so. 
The  enemy  has  disappeared.  At  least,  the  liinng  of  his  dirty  hat 
is  no  longer  visible  on  the  broad  marble  table  of  Dr.  Firmin's  hall. 

But  one  day — it  may  be  ten  days  after  the  quarrel — a  little 
messenger  comes  to  Philip,  and  says,  "  Philip  dear,  I  am  sure  there 
is  something  wrong ;  that  horrible  Hunt  has  been  here  with  a  very 
quiet  soft-sjioken  old  gentleman,  and  they  have  been  going  on  with 
my  poor  pa  about  my  wrongs  and  his — his,  indeed  ! — and  they  have 
worked  him  up  to  believe  that  somebody  has  cheated  his  daughter 
out  of  a  great  fortune ;  and  who  can  that  somebody  be  but  your 
father  1  And  whenever  they  see  me  coming,  papa  and  that  horrid 
Hunt  go  off  to  the  '  Admiral  Byng ' :  and  one  night  when  pa  came 
home  he  said,  '  Bless  you,  bless  you,  my  poor  innocent  injured 
child  ;  and  blessed  you  vill  be,  mark  a  fond  father's  words  ! '  They 
are  scheming  something  against  Philip  and  Philip's  father.  Mr. 
Bond  the  soft-spoken  old  gentleman's  name  is  :  and  twice  there  has 
been  a  Mr.  Walls  to  inciuire  if  Mr.  Hunt  was  at  our  house."' 

"Mr.  Bond? — ]\Ir.  Walls? — A  gentleman  of  the  name  of  Bond 
was  Uncle  Twysden's  attorney.  An  old  gentleman,  with  a  bald 
head,  and  one  eye  bigger  than  tlie  other?" 

"  Well,  tliis  old  man  has  one  smaller  than  the  othei-,  I  do 
think,"  says  Caroline.  "  First  man  who  came  was  Mr.  Walls — a 
rattling  young  fasliionable  chap,  always  laughing,  talking  about 
tlieatres,  operas,  everything — came  home  from  the  '  Byng '  along 
with  pa  and  his  new  friend — oh  !  I  do  liate  him,  that  man,  that 
Hunt!— then  he  brought  the  old  man,  this  Mr.  Bond.  What  are 
they  scheming  against  you,  Philip?  I  tell  you  this  matter  is  all 
about  you  and  yoiu*  father." 


230  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Years  and  years  ago,  in  the  poor  mother's  lifetime,  Philip 
remembered  an  outbreak  of  wrath  on  his  father's  part,  who  called 
Uncle  Twysden  a  swindling  miser,  and  this  very  Mr.  Bond  a 
scoundrel  who  deserved  to  be  hanged,  for  interfering  in  some  way 
in  the  management  of  a  part  of  the  property  which  Mrs.  Twysden 
and  her  sister  inherited  from  their  own  mother.  That  quarrel  had 
been  made  up,  as  such  quarrels  are.  The  brothers-in-law  had  con- 
tinued to  mistrust  each  other  ;  but  there  was  no  reason  Avhy  the 
feud  should  descend  to  the  children  ;  and  Philip  and  his  aunt,  and 
one  of  her  daughters  at  least,  were  on  good  terms  together.  Philip's 
uncle's  lawyers  engaged  with  his  father's  debtor  and  enemy  against 
Dr.  Firmin  :  the  alliance  boded  no  good. 

"I  won't  tell  you  what  I  think,  Philip,"  said  the  father.  "You 
are  fond  of  your  cousin  1 " 

"  Oh  !  for  ev " 

"  For  ever,  of  course  !  At  least  until  we  change  our  mind,  or 
one  of  us  grows  tired,  or  finds  a  better  mate." 

''  Ah,  sir  !  "  cries  Philip,  but  suddenly  stops  in  his  remonstrance. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say,  Philip,  and  why  do  you  pause  ? " 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  father,  if  I  might  without  oSending,  that 
I  -think  you  judge  hardly  of  women.  I  know  two  who  have  been 
very  faithful  to  you." 

"  And  I  a  traitor  to  both  of  them.  Yes ;  and  my  remorse, 
Philip,  my  remorse  ! "  says  his  father  in  his  deepest  tragedy  voice, 
clutching  his  hand  over  a  heart  that  I  believe  beat  very  coolly. 
But,  psha !  why  am  I,  Philip's  biographer,  going  out  of  the  way  to 
abuse  Philip's  papa*?  Is  not  the  threat  of  bigamy  and  exposure 
enough  to  disturb  any  man's  equanimity  ?  I  say  again,  suppose 
there  is  another  sword — a  rope,  if  you  will  so  call  it — hanging  over 
the  head  of  our  Damocles  of  Old  Parr  Street  ?  .  .  .  Howbeit,  the 
father  and  the  son  met  and  parted  in  these  days  with  unusual 
gentleness  and  cordiality.  And  these  were  the  last  days  in  which 
they  were  to  meet  together.  Nor  could  Philip  recall  without  satis- 
faction, afterwards,  that  tlie  hand  which  he  took  was  pressed  and 
given  with  a  real  kindness  and  cordiality. 

Why  were  these  the  last  days  son  and  father  were  to  pass 
together?  Dr.  Firmin  is  still  alive.  Philip  is  a  very  tolerably 
prosperous  gentleman.  He  and  his  father  parted  good  friends,  and 
it  is  the  biographer's  business  to  narrate  how  and  wherefore.  When 
Philip  told  his  father  that  Messrs.  Bond  and  Selby,  his  Uncle 
Twysden's  attorneys,  were  suddenly  interested  about  Mr.  Brandon 
and  his  affairs,  the  father  instantly  guessed,  though  the  son  was  too 
simple  as  yet  to  understand,  how  it  was  that  these  gentlemen  inter- 
fered.     If  Mr.  Brandon-Firmin's  marriage  with  Miss  Ringwood  was 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     2.S1 

null  her  son  was  illegitimate,  and  her  fortune  went  to  her  sister. 
Painful  as  such  a  duty  might  be  to  such  tender-hearted  people  as 
our  Twysden  acquaintances  to  deprive  a  dear  nephew  of  his  fortune, 
yet,  after  all,  duty  is  duty,  and  a  parent  nuist  sacrifice  everything 
for  justice  and  his  own  children.  "  Had  I  been  in  such  a  case," 
Talbot  Twysden  subsequently  and  repeatedly  declared,  "  I  should 
never  have  been  easy  a  moment  if  I  thought  I  possessed  wrongfully 
a  beloved  nephew's  property.  I  could  not  have  slept  in  peace ;  I 
could  not  have  shown  my  face  at  my  own  club,  or  to  my  own  con- 
science, had  I  the  weight  of  such  an  injustice  on  my  mind."  In  a 
word,  when  lie  found  that  there  was  a  chance  of  annexing  Philip's 
share  of  the  property  to  his  own,  Twysden  saw  clearly  that  his 
duty  was  to  stand  by  his  own  wife  and  children. 

The  information  upon  which  Talbot  Twysden,  Esquire,  acted 
was  brought  to  him  at  his  office  by  a  gentleman  in  dingy  black,  who, 
after  a  long  interview  with  him,  accompanied  him  to  his  lawyer, 
Mr.  Bond,  before  mentioned.  Here,  in  South  Square,  Gray's  Iim, 
the  three  gentlemen  held  a  consultation,  of  which  the  results  began 
(juickly  to  show  themselves.  Messrs.  Bond  and  Selby  had  an  ex- 
ceedingly lively,  cheerful,  jovial,  and  intelligent  confidential  clerk, 
who  combined  business  and  pleasure  with  the  utmost  affability,  and 
was  acquainted  with  a  thousand  queer  things,  and  queer  histories 
about  queer  people  in  this  town :  who  lent  money ;  who  wanted 
money  ;  who  was  in  debt ;  and  who  was  outrunning  the  constable  ; 
whose  diamonds  were  in  pawn  ;  whose  estates  were  over-mortgaged  ; 
who  was  over-building  himself ;  who  was  casting  eyes  of  longing  at 
what  pretty  opera-dancer — about  races,  fights,  bill-brokers,  quicquid 
iir/unt  homines.  This  Tom  Walls  had  a  deal  of  information,  and 
imparted  it  so  as  to  make  you  die  of  laughing. 

The  Reverend  Tufton  Hunt  brought  this  jolly  fellow  first  to 
the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  where  his  amiability  won  all  hearts  at  the 
club.  At  the  "Byng"  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  gain  Captain 
Gann's  easy  confidence.  And  this  old  man  was,  in  the  course  of  a 
very  trifling  consumption  of  rum-and-water,  brought  to  see  that  his 
daughter  had  been  the  object  of  a  wicked  conspiracy,  and  was  the 
rightful  and  most  injured  wife  of  a  man  who  ought  to  declare  her 
fair  fame  before  the  world,  and  i)ut  her  in  possession  of  a  portion  of 
his  great  fortune. 

A  great  fortune'?  How  great  a  fortune]  Was  it  three  hun- 
dred thousand,  say  1  TlK)se  doctors,  many  of  them,  had  fifteen 
thousand  a  year.  Mr.  Walls  (who  ])erhaps  knew  better)  was  not 
at  liberty  to  say  what  the  fortune  was  :  but  it  was  a  shame  that 
Mrs.  Brandon  was  kei)t  out  of  her  rights,  that  was  clear. 

Old  Gann's  excitement  when  this  matter  was  first  broached 


2.32  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

to  him  (under  vows  of  profound  secrecy)  was  so  intense  that  his  old 
reason  tottered  on  its  rickety  old  throne.  He  well-nigh  burst  with 
longing  to  speak  upon  this  mystery.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Oves,  the 
esteemed  landlord  and  lady  of  the  "  Byng,"  never  saw  him  so 
excited.  He  had  a  great  opinion  of  the  judgment  of  his  friend, 
Mr.  Ridley ;  in  fact,  he  must  liave  gone  to  Bedlam,  unless  he  had 
talked  to  somebody  on  this  most  nefarious  transaction,  which  might 
make  the  blood  of  every  Briton  curdle  with  horror — as  he  was 
free  to  say. 

Old  Mr.  Ridley  was  of  a  much  cooler  temperament,  and  alto- 
gether a  more  cautious  person.  The  Doctor  rich  1  He  wished  to 
tell  no  secrets,  nor  to  meddle  in  no  gentleman's  affairs :  but  he  have 
heard  very  different  statements  regarding  Dr.  Firmin's  affairs. 

When  dark  hints  about  treason,  wicked  desertion,  rights  denied, 
"  and  a  great  fortune  which  you  are  kep'  out  of,  my  poor  Caroline, 
by  a  rascally  wolf  in  sheep's  clothing,  you  are ;  and  I  always  mis- 
trusted him,  from  the  moment  I  saw  him,  and  said  to  your  mother, 
'  Emily,  that  Brandon  is  a  bad  fellow,  Brandon  is ; '  and  bitterly 
bitterly  I've  rued  ever  receiving  him  under  my  roof."  When 
speeches  of  this  nature  were  made  to  Mrs.  Caroline,  strange  to  say, 
the  little  lady  made  light  of  them.  "  Oh,  nonsense,  pa !  Don't 
be  bringing  that  sad  old  story  up  again.  I  have  suffered  enough 
from  it  already.  If  Mr.  F.  left  me,  he  wasn't  the  only  one  who 
flung  me  away ;  and  I  have  been  able  to  live,  thank  mercy, 
through  it  all." 

This  was  a  hard  hit,  and  not  to  be  parried.  The  truth  is,  that 
when  poor  Caroline,  deserted  by  her  husband,  had  come  back,  in 
wretchedness,  to  her  fiither's  door,  the  man,  and  the  wife  who  then 
ruled  him,  had  thouglit  fit  to  thrust  her  away.  And  she  had 
forgiven  them  :  and  had  been  enabled  to  heap  a  rare  quantity  of 
coals  on  that  old  gentleman's  head. 

When  the  Captain  remarked  his  daughter's  indifference  and  un- 
willingness to  reopen  tliis  painful  question  of  her  sham  marriage 
with  Firmin,  his  wrath  was  moved,  and  his  suspicion  excited. 
"  Ha ! "  says  he,  "  have  this  man  been  a-tampering  with  you 
again  ? " 

"  Nonsense,  pa ! "  once  more  says  Caroline.  "  I  tell  you  it 
is  this  fine-talking  lawyers'  clerk  has  been  tampering  with  yon. 
You're  made  a  tool  of,  pa  !  and  you've  been  made  a  tool  of  all 
your  life ! " 

"Well,  now,  upon  my  honour,  my  good  madam,"  interposes 
Mr.  Walls. 

"  Don't  talk  to  me,  sir  !  I  don't  want  any  lawyers'  clerks  to 
meddle  in  mv  business  ! "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  very  briskly.      "  I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     23S 

don't  know  what  you're  come  about.  I  dou't  want  to  know,  and 
I'm  most  certain  it  is  for  no  good." 

I  suppose  it  was  the  ill  success  of  his  ambassador  that  brought 
Mr.  Bond  himself  to  Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  a  more  kind  fatherly 
little  man  never  looked  than  Mr.  Bond,  although  he  may  have 
had  one  eye  smaller  than  the  other.  "  What  is  this,  my  dear 
madam,  I  hear  from  my  confidential  clerk,  Mr.  Walls  1 "  he  asked 
of  the  Little  Sister.  "  You  refuse  to  give  him  your  confidence 
because  he  is  only  a  clerk  1  I  wonder  whether  yo\i  will  accord  it 
to  me  as  a  principal  1 " 

"  She  may,  sir,  she  may — every  confidence  !  "  says  the  Captain, 
laying  his  hand  on  that  snuffy  satin  waistcoat  which  all  his  friends 
so  long  admii-cd  on  him.      "She  mi<iht  have  spoken  to  Mr.  Walls." 

"Mr.  Walls  is  not  a  family  man.  I  am.  I  have  children  at 
home,  Mrs.  Brandon,  as  old  as  you  are,"  says  the  benevolent 
Bond.     "  I  would  have  justice  done  them,  and  for  you  too." 

"  You're  very  good  to  take  so  much  trouble  about  me  all  of  a 
sudden,  to  be  sure,"  says  Mi's.  Brandon  demurely.  "  I  suppose  you 
don't  do  it  for  nothing." 

"  I  should  not  require  nuich  fee  to  help  a  good  woman  to  her 
I'ights ;  and  a  lady  I  don't  think  needs  much  persuasion  to  be 
helped  to  her  advantage,"  remarks  Mr.  Bond. 

"  That  depends  who  the  helper  is." 

"  Well,  if  I  can  do  you  no  harm,  and  help  you  possibly  to  a 
name,  to  a  fortmie,  to  a  high  place  in  the  world,  I  don't  think  you 
need  be  frightened.     I  don't  look  very  wicked         ery  artful,  do  11" 

"  Many  is  that  don't  look  so.  I've  learne  .  as  much  as  that 
about  you  gentlemen,"  remarks  Mrs.  Brandon. 

"You  have  been  wronged  by  one  man,  and  doubt  all." 

"  Not  all.     Some,  sir  !  " 

"  Doubt  about  me  if  I  can  by  any  possibility  injure  you.  But 
how  and  why  should  1 1  Your  good  lather  knows  what  has  brought 
me  here.  I  have  no  secret  from  him.  Have  I,  Mr.  Gann,  or 
Captain  Gann,  as  I  have  heard  you  addressed  1 " 

"  Mr.,  sir — plain  Mr. — No,  sir ;  your  conduct  have  been  most 
open,  honourable,  and  like  a  gentleman.  Neither  would  you,  sir, 
do  aught  to  disparage  Mrs.  Brandon  ;  neither  would  I,  her  father. 
No  ways,  I  tliink,  would  a  parent  do  harm  to  his  own  child.  May 
I  otter  you  any  refreshment,  sir?"  and  a  shaky,  a  dingy,  but  an 
hosjiitable  hand,  is  laid  ujjon  the  glossy  cupboard,  in  which  Mrs. 
Brandon  keeps  her  modest  little  store  of  strong  waters. 

"Not  one  drop,  thank  you  !  You  trust  ine,  I  think,  more  than 
Mrs.  Firm — I  beg  your  panloii- Mrs.  Brandon  is  disposed  to  do." 

At  tlie  utterance  of  that  monosyllable  Finn,  Caroline  became  bo 


234  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

white,  and  trembled  so,  that  her  interlocutor  stopped,  rather  alarmed 
at  the  effect  of  his  word — his  word  ! — his  syllable  of  a  word. 

The  old  lawyer  recovered  himself  with  much  grace. 

"  Pardon  me,  madam,"  he  said ;  *'  I  know  your  wrongs ;  I 
know  your  most  melancholy  history ;  I  know  your  name,  and  was 
going  to  use  it,  but  it  seemed  to  renew  painful  recollections  to  you, 
which  I  would  not  needlessly  recall." 

Captain  Gann  took  out  a  snuffy  pocket-handkerchief,  wiped 
two  red  eyes  and  a  shirt-front,  and  winked  at  the  attorney,  and 
gasped  in  a  pathetic  manner. 

"  You  know  my  story  and  name,  sir,  who  are  a  stranger  to  me. 
Have  you  told  this  old  gentleman  all  about  me  and  my  affairs, 
pal"  asks  Caroline,  with  some  asperity.  "Have  you  told  him 
that  my  ma  never  gave  me  a  word  of  kindness — that  I  toiled  for 
you  and  her  like  a  servant — and  when  I  came  back  to  you,  after 
being  deceived  and  deserted,  that  you  and  ma  shut  the  door  in  my 
face  1  You  did  !  you  did  !  I  forgive  you  ;  but  a  hundred  thousand 
billion  years  can't  mend  that  injury,  fiither,  while  you  broke  a 
poor  child's  heart  with  it  that  day  !  My  pa  has  told  you  all  this, 
Mr.  What's-your-name  *?  I'm  s'prised  he  didn't  find  something 
pleasanter  to  talk  about,  I'm  sure  !  " 

"  My  love  !  "  interposed  the  Captain. 

"  Pretty  love  !  to  go  and  tell  a  stranger  in  a  public-house,  and 
ever  so  many  there  besides,  I  suppose,  your  daughter's  misfortunes, 
pa.     Pretty  love  !     That's  what  I've  had  from  you  !  " 

"  Not  a  soul,  on  the  honour  of  a  gentleman,  except  me  and 
Mr.  Walls." 

"  Then  what  do  you  come  to  talk  about  me  at  all  for  1  and  what 
scheme  on  hearth  are  you  driving  at  1  and  what  brings  this  old  man 
here  ? "  cries  the  landlady  of  Thornhaugh  Street,  stamping  her  foot. 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  frankly,  my  good  lady  ?  I  called  you  Mrs. 
Firmin  now,  because,  on  my  lionour  and  word,  I  believe  such  to  be 
your  rightful  name — because  you  are  the  lawful  wife  of  George 
Brand  Firmin.  If  such  be  your  lawful  name,  others  bear  it  who 
liave  no  right  to  bear  it — and  inherit  property  to  which  they  can 
lay  no  just  claim.  In  the  year  1827,  you,  Caroline  Gann,  a  cliild 
of  sixteen,  were  married  by  a  clergyman  wliom  you  know,  to 
George  Brand  Firmin,  calling  himself  George  Brandon.  He  was 
guilty  of  deceiving  you ;  but  you  were  guilty  of  no  deceit.  He  was 
a  hardened  and  wily  man ;  but  you  were  an  innocent  child  out  of  a 
schoolroom.  And  though  he  thought  the  marriage  was  not  binding 
upon  him,  binding  it  is  by  Act  of  Parliament  and  judges'  decision ; 
and  you  are  as  assuredly  George  Firmin's  wife,  madam,  as  Mrs. 
Bond  is  mine  !  " 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     235 

"You  have  been  cruelly  injured,  Caroline,"  says  the  Captain, 
wagging  his  old  nose  over  his  handkerchief. 

Caroline  seemed  to  be  very  well  versed  in  the  law  of  the 
transaction.  "You  mean,  sir,"  she  said  slowly,  "that  if  me  and 
Mr.  Brandon  was  married  to  each  (^ther,  he  knowing  that  he  was 
only  playing  at  marriage,  ami  nie  believing  that  it  was  all  for 
good,  we  are  really  married." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  are,  madam — my  client  has — that  is,  I  have 
had  advice  on  the  point." 

"  But  if  we  both  knew  that  it  was — was  only  a  sort  of  a 
marriage — an  irregular  marriage,  you  know  1 " 

"Then  the  Act  says  that  to  all  intents  and  purijoscs  the 
marriage  is  null  and  void." 

"  But  you  didn't  know,  my  poor  innocent  child  ! "  cries  Mr. 
Gaini.  "  How  should  you "?  How  old  was  you "?  She  was  a  child 
in  the  nursery,  Mr.  Bond,  when  the  villain  inveigled  her  away  from 
her  poor  old  father.     She  knew  nothing  of  irregular  marriages." 

"  Of  course  she  didn't,  the  poor  creature,"  cries  the  old  gentle- 
man, rubbing  his  hands  together  with  perfect  good-humour.  "  Poor 
young  thing,  poor  young  thing  !  " 

As  he  was  speaking,  Caroline,  very  pale  and  still,  was  sitting 
looking  at  Ridley's  sketch  of  Philip,  which  hung  in  her  little  room. 
Presently  she  turned  round  on  the  attorney,  folding  her  little  hands 
over  her  work. 

"  Mr.  Bond,"  she  said,  "  girls,  though  they  may  be  ever  so 
young,  know  more  than  some  folks  fancy.  I  was  more  than  sixteen 
when  that— that  business  happened.  I  wasn't  happy  at  home,  and 
eager  to  get  away.  I  knew  that  a  gentleman  of  his  rank  woiddn't 
be  likely  really  to  marry  a  poor  Cinderella  out  of  a  lodging  house, 
like  me.  If  the  truth  must  be  told,  I — I  knew  it  was  no  marriage 
— never  thought  it  was  a  marriage — not  for  good,  you  know." 

And  she  folds  her  little  hands  together  as  she  utters  the  words, 
and  I  daresay  once  more  looks  at  Philiji's  portrait. 

"Gracious  goodness,  madam,  you  must  bo  under  some  error!" 
cries  the  attorney.  "How  should  a  child  like  you  know  that  the 
marriage  was  irregular  ? " 

"  Because  I  had  no  lines  !  "  cries  Caroline  (piickly.  "  Never 
asked  for  none  !  And  our  maid  we  had  then  said  to  me,  '  Miss 
Carry,  where's  your  lines'?  And  it's  no  good  without.'  And  I 
knew  it  wasn't.  And  I'm  ready  to  go  before  the  Lord  Chancellor 
to-morrow  and  say  so  !  "  cries  ('aroline,  to  the  bewilderment  of  her 
father  and  her  cross-examinant. 

"  Pause,  pause !  my  good  umiiani  ! ''  cxchums  the  lucck  old 
gentleman,  rising  from  his  chair. 


236  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Go  and  tell  this  to  them  as  sent  you,  sir !  "  cries  Caroline, 
very  imperiously,  leaving  the  lawyer  amazed,  and  her  father's  face 
in  a  bewilderment,  over  which  we  will  fling  his  snuffy  old  pocket- 
handkerchief. 

"  If  such  is  unfortunately  the  case — if  you  actually  mean  to 
abide  by  this  astonishing  confession — which  deprives  you  of  a  high 
place  in  society — and — and  casts  down  the  hope  we  had  formed  of 
redressing  your  injured  rejjutation — I  have  nothing  for  it !  I  take 
my  leave,  madam  !  Goo<l  morning,  Mr.  Hum  ! — Mr.  Gann  ! "  And 
the  old  lawyer  walks  out  of  the  Little  Sister's  room. 

"  She  won't  own  to  the  marriage  !  She  is  fond  of  some  one  else 
— the  little  suicide  ! "  thinks  the  old  lawyer,  as  he  clatters  down 
the  street  to  a  neighbouring  house,  where  his  anxious  princijjal  was 
in  waiting.      "  She's  fond  of  some  one  else  !  " 

Yes.  But  the  some  one  else  whom  Caroline  loved  was  Brand 
Firmin's  son  ;  and  it  was  to  save  Philip  from  ruin  that  the  poor 
Little  Sister  chose  to  forget  her  marriage  to  his  father. 


CHAPTER   XITI 

LOFE  ME  LOVE   MY  DOG 

WHILST  tlio  battle  is  raging,  the  old  folks  and  ladies  peep 
over  the  battlements,  to  watch  the  turns  of  the  combat, 
and  the  behaviour  of  the  knights.  To  princesses  in  old 
days,  whose  lovely  hands  were  to  be  bestowed  upon  the  conqueror, 
it  nuist  have  been  a  matter  of  no  small  interest  to  know  whether 
the  slim  young  champion  with  the  lovely  eyes  on  the  milk-white 
steed  should  van(juish,  or  the  dumpy,  elderly,  square-shouldere<l, 
squinting,  carroty  whiskerando  of  a  warrior  who  was  laying  about 
him  so  savagely  ;  and  so  in  this  battle,  on  the  issue  of  which 
depended  the  keeping  or  losing  of  poor  Philip's  inheritance,  there 
were  several  non-combatants  deeply  interested.  Or  suppose  we 
withdraw  the  chivalrous  simile  (as  in  fact  the  conduct  and  views 
of  certain  parties  engaged  in  the  matter  were  anything  but  what  we 
call  chivalrous),  and  imagine  a  wily  old  monkey  who  engages  a 
cat  to  take  certain  chestnuts  out  of  the  fire,  and  pussy  putting 
lier  paw  through  the  bars,  seizing  the  nut  and  then  dropping  if? 
Jacko  is  disappointed  and  angry,  shows  his  sharp  teeth,  and  bites 
if  he  dares.  When  the  attorney  went  doAvn  to  do  battle  for 
Phili])'s  patrimony,  some  of  those  who  wanted  it  were  sjiectators 
of  the  fight,  and  lurking  up  a  tree  hard  by.  When  Mr.  Bond  came 
forward  to  try  and  seize  Phil's  chestnuts,  there  was  a  wily  old 
monkey  who  thrust  the  cat's  paw  out,  and  j)roposed  to  gobble  up 
the  smoking  prize. 

If  you  have  ever  been  at  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  you  know,  my 
dear  madam,  that  tlie  jiarlour  where  the  club  meets  is  just  bcliiud 
Mrs.  Oves's  bar,  so  that  by  lifting  up  tlic  sash  of  the  Avindow  which 
conmiunicates  between  the  two  a]):irtmeiits,  that  good-natured 
woman  may  put  her  face  into  the  clu1)-room,  and  actually  be  one 
of  the  society.  Sometimes,  for  company,  old  Mr.  Ridley  goes  and 
sits  with  Mrs.  0.  in  her  bar,  and  reads  the  paper  there.  He  is 
slow  at  his  reading.  The  long  words  puzzle  the  worthy  gentleman. 
As  he  has  plenty  of  time  to  spare,  he  does  not  grudge  it  to  the 
study  of  his  i)apor. 

On  the  day  when  Mr.   Bond  went  to  persuade  Mrs.   Brandon 


238  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

in  Thornhaugh  Street  to  claim  Dr.  Firmin  for  her  husband,  and  to 
disinherit  i)oor  Philip,  a  little  gentleman  wrapped  most  solemnly 
and  mysteriously  in  a  great  cloak  appeared  at  the  bar  of  the 
"Admiral  Byng,"  and  said  in  an  aristocratic  manner,  "You  have 
a  parlour,  show  me  to  it."  And  being  introduced  to  the  parlour 
(where  there  are  fine  pictures  of  Oves,  Mrs.  0.,  and  "  Spotty-nose," 
their  favourite  defunct  bull-dog),  sat  down  and  called  for  a  glass 
of  sherry  and  a  newspaper. 

The  civil  and  intelligent  potboy  of  the  "  Byng  "  took  the  party 
The  Advertiser  of  yesterday  (which  to-day's  paper  was  in  'and), 
and  when  the  gentleman  began  to  swear  over  the  old  paper, 
Frederic  gave  it  as  his  opinion  to  his  mistress  that  the  new-comer 
was  a  harbitrary  gent, — as,  indeed,  he  was,  with  the  omission, 
perhaps,  of  a  single  letter ;  a  man  who  bullied  everybody  who 
would  submit  to  be  bullied.  In  fact,  it  was  our  friend  Talbot 
Twysden,  Esq.,  Commissioner  of  the  Powder  and  Pomatum  Office ; 
and  I  leave  those  who  know  him  to  say  whether  he  is  arbitrary 
or  not. 

To  him  presently  came  that  bland  old  gentleman,  Mr.  Bond, 
who  also  asked  for  a  parlour  and  some  sherry  and  water ;  and 
this  is  how  Philip  and  his  veracious  and  astute  biographer  came 
to  know  for  a  certainty  that  dear  Uncle  Talbot  was  the  person  who 
wished  to — to  have  Philip's  chestnuts. 

Mr.  Bond  and  Mr.  Twysden  had  been  scarcely  a  minute  together, 
when  such  a  storm  of  imprecations  came  clattering  through  the 
glass  window  which  communicates  with  Mrs.  Oves's  bar,  that  I 
daresay  they  made  the  jugs  and  tumblers  clatter  on  the  shelves, 
and  Mr.  Ptidley,  a  very  modest-spoken  man,  reading  his  paper,  lay 
it  down  with  a  scared  face,  and  say — "  Well,  I  never."  Nor  did 
he  often,  I  dare  to  say. 

This  volley  was  fired  by  Talbot  Twysden,  in  consequence  of  his 
rage  at  the  news  which  Mr.  Bond  brought  him. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Bond  ;  well,  Mr.  Bond  !  What  does  she  say  *? "  he 
asked  of  his  emissary. 

"  She  will  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  business,  Mr.  Twysden. 
We  can't  touch  it ;  and  I  don't  see  how  we  can  move  her.  She 
denies  the  marriage  as  much  as  Firmin  does ;  says  she  knew  it  was 
a  mere  sham  when  the  ceremony  was  performed." 

"  Sir,  you  didn't  bribe  her  enough,"  shrieked  Mr.  Twysden. 
"  You  have  bungled  this  business  ;  by  George,  you  have,  sir  !  " 

"  Go  and  do  it  yourself,  sir,  if  you  axe  not  asiiamed  to  appear 
in  it,"  says  the  lawyer.  "  You  don't  suppose  I  did  it  because  I 
liked  it ;  or  want  to  take  that  poor  young  fellow's  inheritance  from 
him,  as  you  do." 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     239 

"  I  wish  justice  and  the  law,  sir.  If  I  were  wrongfully  detain- 
ing his  property  I  would  give  it  up.  I  would  be  the  first  to  give 
it  up.  I  desire  justice  and  law,  and  employ  you  because  you  are 
a  law  agent.     Are  you  not  ? " 

"  And  I  have  been  on  your  errand,  and  shall  send  in  my  bill 
in  due  time ;  and  there  will  be  an  end  of  my  connection  witli  you 
as  your  law  agent,  Mr.  Twysden,"  cried  the  old  lawyer. 

"You  know,  sir,  how  badly  Firmin  acted  to  me  in  the  last 
matter." 

"  Faith,  sir,  if  you  ask  my  oi)inion  as  a  law  agent,  I  don't 
think  there  was  much  to  choose  between  you.  How  much  is  the 
sherry-and-water  1 — keep  the  change.  Sorry  I'd  no  better  news  to 
bring  you,  Mr.  T.,  and,  as  you  are  dissatisfied,  again  recommend 
you  to  employ  another  law  agent." 

"  My  good  sir,  I- ■" 

"  My  good  sir,  I  have  had  other  dealings  with  your  family,  and 
am  no  more  going  to  put  up  with  your  highti-tightiness  than  I  would 
with  Lord  Ringwood's  when  I  was  one  of  his  law  agents.  I  am 
not  going  to  tell  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  that  his  uncle  and  aunt  propose 
to  ease  him  of  his  property ;  but  if  anybody  else  does — that  good 
little  Mrs.  Brandon — or  that  old  goose  Mr.  What-d'ye-call-um,  her 
father  —  I  don't  suppose  he  will  be  over  well  pleased.  I  am 
speaking  as  a  gentleman  now,  not  as  a  law  agent.  You  and  your 
nepliew  had  each  a  half-share  of  Mr.  Philip  Firmin's  grandfather's 
proj)erty,  and  you  wanted  it  all,  that's  the  truth,  and  set  a  law 
agent  to  get  it  for  you ;  and  swore  at  him  because  he  could  not  get 
it  from  its  right  owner.  And  so,  sir,  I  wish  you  a  good  morning, 
and  recommend  you  to  take  your  papers  to  some  other  agent,  Mr. 
Twysden."  And  with  this,  exit  Mr.  Bond.  And  now,  I  ask  you, 
if  that  secret  could  be  kept  which  was  known  through  a  trembling 
glass  door  to  Mrs.  Oves  of  the  "  Admiral  Byng,"  and  to  Mr.  Ridley 
the  father  of  J.  J.,  and  the  obsequious  husband  of  Mrs.  Ridley  ? 
On  that  very  afternoon,  at  tea-time,  Mrs.  Ridley  was  made  ac- 
quainted by  her  husband  (in  his  noble  and  circumlocutory  manner) 
with  the  conversation  which  he  had  overheard.  It  was  agreed  that 
an  embassy  should  be  sent  to  J.  J.  on  the  business,  and  his  advice 
taken  regarding  it ;  and  J.  J.'s  opinion  was  that  tlie  conversation 
certainly  shoidd  be  rej)orted  to  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  who  might  after- 
wards act  upon  it  as  he  should  tliink  best. 

What?  His  own  aunt,  cousins,  and  uncle  agreed  in  a  scheme  to 
overthrow  his  legitimacy,  and  deprive  him  of  his  grandfathers  in- 
heritance ?  It  seemed  impossible.  P>ig  with  the  tremendous  news, 
Philip  came  to  his  adviser,  Mr.  Pendcnnis,  of  the  Temple,  and  told 
him  what  had  occurred  on  the  part  of  Father,  Uncle,  and  Little 


240  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Sister.  Her  abnegation  had  been  so  noble,  that  you  may  be  sure 
Philip  appreciated  it ;  and  a  tie  of  friendship  was  formed  between 
the  young  man  and  the  little  lady  even  more  dose  and  tender  than 
that  whicli  liad  bound  tliem  previously.  But  the  Twysdens,  his 
kinsfolk,  to  employ  a  lawyer  in  order  to  rob  him  of  his  iidieritance  ! 
— Oh,  it  was  dastardly  !  Philip  bawled,  and  stamped,  and  thumped 
Ids  sense  of  the  wrong  in  his  usual  energetic  manner.  As  for  his 
cousin  Ringwood  Twysden,  Plnl  hail  often  entertained  a  strong 
desire  to  wring  his  neck  and  pitch  him  downstairs.  "  As  for  Uncle 
Talbot :  that  he  is  an  old  pump,  that  he  is  a  pompous  old  humbug, 
and  the  queerest  old  sycophant,  I  grant  you ;  but  I  couldn't  have 
believed  him  guilty  of  this.  And  as  for  the  girls — oh,  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis,  you  who  are  good,  you  who  are  kind,  although  you  hate 
them,  I  know  you  do — you  can't  say,  you  won't  say,  that  they 
were  in  the  consjjiracy  *? " 

"  But  suppose  Twysden  was  asking  only  for  what  he  conceives 
to  be  his  rights  1 "  asked  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  Had  your  father  been 
married  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  you  would  not  have  been  Dr.  Firmin's 
legitimate  son.  Had  you  not  been  his  legitimate  son,  you  had  no 
right  to  a  half-share  of  your  grandfather's  property.  Uncle  Talbot 
acts  only  tlie  part  of  honour  and  justice  in  the  transaction.  He  is 
Brutus,  and  he  orders  you  off  to  death,  with  a  bleeding  heart." 

"  And  he  orders  his  family  out  of  the  way,"  roars  Phil,  "  so  that 
they  mayn't  be  pained  by  seeing  the  execution  !  I  see  it  all  now. 
I  wish  somebody  would  send  a  knife  through  me  at  once,  and  put 
an  end  to  me.  I  see  it  all  now.  Do  you  know  that  for  tlie  last 
week  I  have  been  to  Beaunash  Street,  and  found  nobody  ?  Agnes 
had  the  bronchitis,  and  her  mother  was  attending  to  her ;  Blanche 
came  for  a  minute  or  two,  and  was  as  cool — as  cool  as  I  have  seen 
Lady  Iceberg  be  cool  to  her.  Then  they  must  go  away  for  change 
of  air.  They  have  been  gone  these  three  days  :  whilst  Uncle  Talbot 
and  that  viper  of  a  Ringwood  liave  been  closeted  with  their  nice  new 

friend,  Mr.  Hunt.     Oh,  couf !  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am  ;  })ut 

I  know  you  always  allow  for  the  energy  of  my  language." 

"  I  should  like  to  see  that  Little  Sister,  Mr.  Firmin.  She  has 
not  been  selfish,  or  had  any  scheme  but  for  your  good,"  remarks 
my  wife. 

"  A  little  angel  who  drops  her  li's — a  little  heart,  so  good  and 
tender  that  I  melt  as  I  think  of  it,"  says  Philip,  drawing  his  big 
hand  over  his  eyes.  "  What  have  men  done  to  get  the  love  of  some 
women  1  We  don't  earn  it ;  we  don't  deserve  it,  perhaps.  We 
don't  return  it.  They  bestow  it  on  us.  I  have  given  nothing 
back  for  all  this  love  and  kindness,  but  I  look  a  little  like  my  father 
of  old  days,  for  wliom — for  whom  she  had  an  attachment.     And 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     241 

see  now  how  she  would  die  to  serve  me  !  You  are  wonderful, 
women  are  !  your  fidelities  and  your  ficklenesses  alike  marvellous. 
What  can  any  woman  have  found  to  adore  in  the  Doctor  1  Do 
you  think  my  father  could  ever  have  been  adorable,  Mrs.  Pendennis  ? 
And  yet  I  have  heard  my  poor  mother  say  she  was  obliged  to  marry 
him.  She  knew  it  was  a  bad  match,  but  she  couldn't  resist  it. 
In  what  was  my  father  so  irresistible?  He  is  not  to  mi/  taste. 
Between  ourselves,  I  think  he  is  a well,  never  mind  what." 

"  I  think  we  had  best  not  mind  what,"  says  my  wife  with  a 
smile. 

"  Quite  right — quite  right ;  only  I  blurt  out  everything  that  is 
on  ray  mind.  Can't  keep  it  in,"  cries  Phil,  gnawing  his  mustachios. 
"  If  my  fortune  depended  on  my  silence  I  should  be  a  beggar,  that's 
the  fact.  And,  you  see,  if  you  had  such  a  father  as  mine,  you 
yourself  would  find  it  rather  diflicult  to  hold  your  tongue  about 
him.  But  no\f,  tell  me  :  this  ordering  away  of  the  girls  and  Aunt 
Twysden,  whilst  the  little  attack  upon  my  property  is  being  carried 
on — isn't  it  queer  1 " 

"  The  question  is  at  an  end,"  said  Mr.  Pendennis.  "  You  are 
restored  to  your  atavis  regihus  and  ancestral  honours.  Now  that 
Uncle  Twysden  can't  get  the  property  without  you ;  have  courage, 
my  boy — he  may  take  it,  along  with  the  encumbrance." 

Poor  Phil  had  not  known — but  some  of  us,  who  are  pretty 
clear-sighted  when  our  noble  selves  are  not  concerned,  had  perceived 
that  Philip's  dear  aunt  was  playing  fast  and  loose  with  the  lad,  and 
when  his  back  was  turned  was  encouraging  a  ri(;her  suitor  for  her 
daughter. 

Hand  on  heart  I  can  say  of  my  wife,  that  she  meddles  with 
her  neighbours  as  little  as  any  pei-son  I  ever  know  ;  but  when 
treacheries  in  love  afiairs  are  in  question,  she  fires  up  at  once,  and 
would  persecute  to  death  almost  the  heartless  male  or  female 
criminal  wlio  would  break  love's  sacred  laws.  The  idea  of  a  man  or 
woman  trifling  with  that  holy  compact  awakens  in  her  a  flame  of 
indignation.  In  certain  confidences  (of  which  let  me  not  vulgarise 
the  arcana)  she  had  given  me  her  mind  about  some  of  Miss 
Twysden's  behaviour  with  that  odious  blackamoor,  as  she  chose  to 
call  Captain  Woolcomb,  who,  I  own,  had  a  very  slight  tinge  of 
complexion  :  and  when,  (quoting  the  words  of  Hamlet  regarding  his 
fntlier  and  mother,  I  asked,  "Could  she  on  this  fair  mountain  leave 
to  feed,  and  batten  on  this  Moor  ? "  Mrs.  Pendennis  crii-d  out  that 
tills  matter  was  all  too  serious  for  jest,  and  wondered  how  her 
husband  could  make  word-plays  about  it.  Perhaps  she  has  not 
the  exquisite  sense  of  humour  possessed  by  some  folks ;  or  is  it 
that  she  has  more  reverence  ?     In  her  creed,  if  not  in  her  church, 


242  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

marriage  is  a  sacrament,  and  the  fond  believer  never  speaks  of  it 
without  awe. 

Now,  as  she  expects  both  parties  to  the  marriage  engagement 
to  keep  that  compact  holy,  she  no  more  understands  trifling  with  it 
than  she  could  comprehend  laughing  and  joking  in  a  church.  She 
has  no  patience  with  flirtations  as  they  are  called.  "  Don't  tell 
me,  sir,"  says  the  enthusiast,  "  a  light  word  between  a  man  and  a 
married  woman  ought  not  to  be  permitted."  And  this  is  why  she 
is  harder  on  the  woman  than  the  man,  in  cases  where  such  dismal 
matters  hapi^en  to  fall  under  discussion.  A  look,  a  word  from  a 
woman,  she  says,  will  check  a  libertine  thought  or  word  in  a  man ; 
and  these  cases  might  be  stopped  at  once  if  the  woman  but  showed 
the  slightest  resolution.  She  is  thus  more  angry  (I  am  only  men- 
tioning the  peculiarities,  not  defending  the  ethics  of  this  individual 
moralist) — she  is,  I  say,  more  angrily  disposed  towards  the  woman 
than  the  man  in  such  delicate  cases ;  and,  I  am  afraid,  considers 
that  women  are  for  the  most  part  only  victims  because  they  choose 
to  be  so. 

Now,  we  had  happened  during  this  season  to  be  at  several 
entertainments,  routs,  and  so  forth,  where  poor  Phil,  owing  to  his 
unhappy  Bohemian  preferences  and  love  of  tobacco,  &c.,  was  not 
present — and  where  we  saw  Miss  Agnes  Twysden  carrying  on  such 
a  game  with  the  tawny  Woolcomb  as  set  Mrs.  Laura  in  a  tremor 
of  indignation.  What  though  A.gnes's  blue-eyed  mamma  sat  near 
her  blue-eyed  daughter  and  kept  her  keeij  clear  orbs  perfectly  wide 
open  and  cognisant  of  all  that  happened  1  So  much  the  worse  for 
her,  the  worse  for  both.  It  was  a  shame  and  a  sin  that  a  Christian 
English  mother  shoidd  suffer  her  daughter  to  deal  lightly  with  the 
most  holy,  the  most  awful  of  human  contracts ;  should  be  preparing 
her  child  who  knows  for  what  after  misery  of  mind  and  soul. 
Three  months  ago,  you  saw  how  she  encouraged  poor  Philip,  and 
now  see  her  with  this  mulatto  ! 

"  Is  he  not  a  man,  and  a  brother,  my  dear  1 "  perhaps  at  this 
Mr.  Pendennis  interposes. 

"  Oh,  for  shame.  Pen,  no  levity  on  this — no  sneers  and  laughter 
on  this  the  most  sacred  subject  of  all."  And  here,  I  daresay,  the 
woman  falls  to  caressing  her  own  children  and  hugging  them  to  her 
heart  as  her  manner  was  when  moved.  Qiie  voulez-vous  ?  There 
are  some  women  in  the  world  to  whom  love  and  truth  are  all  in  all 
here  below.  Other  ladies  there  are  who  see  the  benefit  of  a  good 
jointure,  a  town  and  country  house,  and  so  forth,  and  who  are  not 
so  very  particular  as  to  the  character,  intellect,  or  complexion  of 
gentlemen  who  are  in  a  position  to  offer  their  dear  girls  these 
benefits.     In  fine,  I  say,  that  regarding  this  blue-eyed  mother  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     243 

daughter,  Mrs.  Laura  Pendennis  was  in  such  a  state  of  mind  that 
she  was  ready  to  tear  their  blue  eyes  out. 

Nay,  it  was  with  no  little  difficulty  that  Mrs.  Laura  could  be 
induced  to  hold  her  tongue  upon  the  matter  and  not  give  Philip  her 
opinion.  "  AMiat  1 "  she  would  ask,  "  the  poor  young  man  is  to  be 
deceived  and  cajoled  ;  to  be  taken  or  left  as  it  suits  these  people  ; 
to  be  made  miseral)le  for  life  certainly  if  she  marries  him  ;  and  liis 
friends  are  not  to  dare  to  warn  him  1  The  cowards  !  The  cowardice 
of  you  men.  Pen,  upon  matters  of  opinion,  of  you  masters  and  lords 
of  creation,  is  really  despicable,  sir !  You  dare  not  have  opinions, 
or  holding  them  you  dare  not  declare  them  and  act  by  them.  You 
compromise  with  crime  every  day  because  you  think  it  would  be 
officious  to  declare  yourself  and  interfere.  You  are  not  afraid  of 
outraging  morals,  but  of  inflicting  ennui  upon  society,  and  losing 
your  popularity.  You  are  as  cynical  as — as,  what  was  the  name 
of  the  horrid  old  man  who  lived  in  the  tub — Demosthenes  1 — well, 
Diogenes,  then,  and  the  name  does  not  matter  a  pin,  sir.  You  are 
as  cynical,  only  you  wear  fine  ruffled  shirts  and  wristbands,  and  you 
carry  your  lantern  dark.  It  is  not  right  to  '  put  your  oar  in '  as 
you  say  in  yoiu-  jargon  (and  even  your  slang  is  a  sort  of  cowardice, 
sir,  for  you  are  afraid  to  speak  the  feelings  of  your  heart) : — it  is 
not  right  to  meddle  and  speak  the  truth,  not  right  to  rescue  a  poor 
soul  who  is  drowning — of  course  not.  What  call  have  you  fine 
gentlemen  of  the  world  to  put  your  oar  in  1  Let  him  perish  ! 
What  did  he  in  that  galley  ?  That  is  the  language  of  the  world, 
baby  darling.  And  my  poor  poor  child,  when  you  are  sinking, 
nobody  is  to  sti-etch  out  a  hand  to  save  you  !  "  As  for  that  wife  of 
mine,  when  she  sets  forth  the  maternal  plea,  and  appeals  to  the 
exuberant  school  of  philosophers,  I  know  there  is  no  reasoning  with 
her.  I  retire  to  my  books,  and  leave  her  to  kiss  out  the  rest  of  the 
argimient  over  the  children. 

Philip  did  not  know  the  extent  of  the  obligation  which  he  owed 
to  his  little  friend  and  guardian,  Caroline ;  but  he  was  aware  that 
he  had  no  better  friend  than  herself  in  the  world ;  and,  I  daresay, 
returned  to  her,  as  the  wont  is  in  such  bargains  between  man  and 
woman — woman  and  man,  at  least — a  sixpence  for  that  pure  gold 
treasure,  her  sovereign  affection.  I  suppose  Caroline  thought  her 
sacrifice  gave  her  a  little  authority  to  counsel  Pliilip  ;  for  slie  it  was 
who,  I  believe,  first  bid  him  to  inquire  whetiier  that  engagement 
wliich  he  had  virtually  contracted  witli  his  cousin  was  likely  to  lead 
to  good,  and  was  to  be  binding  upon  him  but  not  on  herl  She 
brought  Ridley  to  add  his  doubts  to  her  remonstrances.  She 
showed  Philip  that  not  only  his  uncle's  conduct,  but  his  cousin's, 
was  interested,  and  set  him  to  inquire  into  it  further. 


244  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

That  peculiar  form  of  bronchitis  under  which  poor  dear  Agnes 
was  suflfering  was  relieved  by  absence  from  London.  The  smoke, 
the  crowded  parties  and  assem])lies,  the  late  hours,  and,  perhaps, 
the  gloom  of  the  house  in  Beaunash  Street,  distressed  the  poor 
dear  child ;  and  her  cough  was  very  much  soothed  by  that  fine  cut- 
ting east  wind,  which  blows  so  liberally  along  the  Brighton  cliffs, 
and  which  is  so  good  for  coughs,  as  we  all  know.  But  there  was 
one  fault  in  Brighton  which  could  not  be  helped  in  her  bad  case  :  it 
is  too  near  London.  The  air,  that  chartered  libertine,  can  blow 
down  from  London  quite  easily ;  or  people  can  come  from  London 
to  Brighton,  bringing,  I  daresay,  the  insidious  London  fog  along 
with  them.  At  any  rate.  Agues,  if  she  wished  for  quiet,  poor  thing, 
might  have  gone  farther  and  fared  better.  Why,  if  you  owe  a  tailor 
a  bill,  he  can  run  down  and  present  it  in  a  few  hours.  Vulgar 
inconvenient  acquaintances  thrust  themselves  upon  you  at  every 
moment  and  corner.  Was  ever  such  a  tohu-hohu  of  peoi)le  as  there 
assembles"?  You  can't  be  tranquil  if  you  will.  Organs  pipe  and 
scream  without  cease  at  your  windows.  Your  name  is  put  down  in 
the  papers  when  you  arrive ;  and  everybody  meets  everybody  ever 
so  many  times  a  day. 

On  finding  that  his  uncle  had  set  lawyers  to  work,  with  the 
charitable  purpose  of  ascertaining  whether  Philip's  property  was 
legitimately  his  own,  Philip  was  a  good  deal  disturbed  in  mind. 
He  could  not  appreciate  that  high  sense  of  moral  obligation  by 
which  Mr.  Twysden  was  actuated.  At  least,  he  thought  that  these 
inquiries  should  not  have  been  secretly  set  a-foot ;  and  as  he  him- 
self was  perfectly  open — a  .great  deal  too  open,  perhaps — in  his 
words  and  his  actions,  he  was  hard  with  those  who  attempted  to 
hoodwink  or  deceive  him. 

It  could  not  be  ;  ah  !  no,  it  never  could  be,  that  Agnes  the  pure 
and  gentle  was  privy  to  this  conspiracy.  But,  then,  how  very — 
very  often  of  late  she  had  been  from  home ;  how  very  very  cold 
Aunt  Twysden's  shoulder  had  somehow  become.  Once,  when  he 
reached  the  door,  a  fishmonger's  boy  was  leaving  a  fine  salmon  at 
the  kitchen, — a  salmon  and  a  tub  of  ice.  Once,  twice,  at  five 
o'clock,  when  he  called,  a  smell  of  cooking  pervaded  the  hall, — that 
hall  which  culinary  odours  very  seldom  visited.  Some  of  those 
noble  Twysden  dinners  were  on  the  tajns,  and  Philip  was  not  asked. 
Not  to  be  asked  was  no  great  deprivation  ;  but  who  were  the  guests? 
To  be  sure,  these  were  trifles  light  as  air ;  but  Philip  smelt  mischief 
in  the  steam  of  those  Twysden  dinners.  He  chewed  that  salmon 
with  a  bitter  sauce  as  he  saw  it  sink  down  the  area  steps  and  dis- 
appear with  its  attendant  lobster  in  the  dark  kitchen  regions. 

Yes;  eyes  were  somehow  averted   that  used  to   look  into  his 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    T.HE    WORLD     245 

very  frankly ;  a  glove  somehow  had  grown  over  a  little  hand  whieh 
once  uRod  to  lie  very  comfortably  in  his  broad  palm.  Was  anybody 
else  going  to  seize  it,  and  was  it  going  to  j)addle  in  that  blackamoor's 
unblcst  fingers  1  Ah  !  fiends  and  tortures  !  a  gentleman  may  cease 
to  love,  but  does  he  like  a  woman  to  cease  to  love  him'?  Peoijle 
carry  on  ever  so  long  for  fear  of  that  declaration  that  all  is  over. 
No  confession  is  more  dismal  to  make.  The  sun  of  love  has  set. 
We  sit  in  the  dark.  I  mean  you,  dear  madam,  and  Corydon,  or  I 
and  Amaryllis ;  uncomfortably,  with  nothing  more  to  say  to  one 
another ;  with  the  night  dew  falling,  and  a  risk  of  catching  cold, 
drearily  (contemplating  the  fading  west,  with  "the  cold  remains  of 
lustre  gone,  of  fire  long  past  away."  Sink,  fire  of  love  !  Rise, 
gentle  moon,  and  mists  of  chilly  evening.  And,  my  good  Madam 
Amaryllis,  let  us  go  home  to  some  tea  and  a  fire. 

So  Philip  determined  to  go  and  seek  his  cousin.  Arrived  at  his 
hotel  (and  if  it  were  tlie  *  *  I  can't  conceive  Philip  in  much 
better  quarters),  he  had  the  opportunity  of  inspecting  those  delight- 
ful newspaper  arrivals,  a  perusal  of  which  has  so  often  edified  us  at 
Brighton.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Penfold,  he  was  informed,  continued  their 
residence.  No.  96  Horizontal  Place  ;  and  it  was  with  those  guardians 
he  knew  his  Agnes  was  staying.  He  speeds  to  Horizontal  Place. 
Miss  Twysden  is  out.  He  heaves  a  sigh,  and  leaves  a  card.  Has 
it  ever  happened  to  you  to  leave  a  card  at  that  house — that  house 
which  was  once  the  liouse — almost  your  own ;  where  you  were  ever 
welcome ;  where  the  kindest  hand  was  ready  to  grasp  yours,  the 
brightest  eye  to  greet  you  1  And  now  your  friendsliip  has  dwindled 
away  to  a  little  bit  of  pasteboard,  shed  once  a  year,  and  poor  dear 
Mrs.  Jones  (it  is  with  J.  you  have  (puirrelled)  still  calls  on  the 
ladies  of  your  family  and  slips  her  husband's  ticket  upon  the  hall 
table.  Oh,  life  and  time,  that  it  should  have  come  to  this  !  Oli, 
gracious  powers  !  Do  you  recall  the  time  when  Arabella  Thompson 
was  Arabella  Briggs  !  You  call  and  talk  fadaises  to  her  (at  first 
she  is  ratlier  nervous,  and  has  the  children  in) ;  you  talk  rain  and 
fine  weather;  the  last  novel;  the  next  party;  Thompson  in  the 
City?  Yes,  Mr.  Thompson  is  in  the  City.  He's  pretty  well,  thank 
you  !  Ah  !  Daggers,  rojjcs,  and  poisons,  has  it  come  to  this  1  You 
are  talking  about  tlie  weather,  and  another  man's  health,  and 
another  man's  children,  o\  which  she  is  mother,  to  her?  Time  was 
the  weather  was  all  a  burning  sunshine,  in  which  you  and  she 
basked  ;  or  if  clouds  gathered,  and  a  storm  fell,  such  a  glorious  rain- 
bow haloed  round  you,  such  delicious  tears  fell  and  refreshed  you, 
that  the  storm  was  more  ravishing  than  the  cnlni.  And  now 
another  man's  cliildren  are  sitting  on  lifi-  knee  their  mother's  knee  ; 
and  once  a  year  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John  Tliouinsuu  reijuest  the  honour 


246  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of  Mr.  Brown's  company  at  dinner ;  and  once  a  year  you  read  in  The 
Times,  "  In  Nursery  Street,  the  wife  of  J.  Thompson,  Esq.,  of  a 
Son."  To  come  to  the  once-beloved  one's  door,  and  find  the  knocker 
tied  up  with  a  white  kid  glove,  is  humiliating — say  what  you  will, 
it  is  humiliating. 

Philip  leaves  his  card,  and  walks  on  to  the  Cliff,  and  of  course, 
in  three  minutes,  meets  Clinker.  Indeed,  who  ever  went  to  Brighton 
for  half-an-hour  without  meeting  Clinker  1 

"  Father  pretty  well  ?  His  old  patient,  Lady  Geminy,  is  down 
here  with  the  children ;  what  a  number  of  them  there  are,  to  be 
sure  !  Come  to  make  any  stay  ■?  See  your  cousin,  Miss  Twysden, 
is  here  with  the  Penfolds.  Little  party  at  the  Grigsons'  last  night ; 
she  looked  uncommonly  well ;  danced  ever  so  many  times  witli  the 
Black  Prince,  Woolcomb  of  the  Greens.  Suppose  I  may  congratulate 
you.  Six  thousand  five  hundred  a  year  now,  and  tliirteen  thousand 
when  his  grandmother  dies ;  but  those  negresses  live  for  ever.  I 
suppose  the  thing  is  settled.  I  saw  them  on  the  pier  just  now,  and 
Mrs.  Penfold  was  reading  a  book  in  the  arbour.  Book  of  sermons  it 
was — pious  woman,  IMrs.  Penfold.  I  daresay  they  are  on  the  pier 
still."  Striding  with  hurried  steps  Pliilip  Firmin  makes  for  the 
pier.  The  breathless  Clhiker  cannot  keep  alongside  of  his  face.  I 
should  like  to  have  seen  it  when  Clinker  said  that  "the  thing" 
was  settled  between  Miss  Twysden  and  the  cavalry  gentleman. 

There  were  a  few  nursery  governesses,  maids,  and  children 
paddling  about  at  the  end  of  the  pier ;  and  there  was  a  fat  woman 
reading  a  book  in  one  of  tlie  arbours — but  no  Agnes,  no  Woolcomb. 
Where  can  tliey  be  1  Can  they  be  M^eighing  each  other  1  or  buying 
those  mad  pebbles,  which  people  are  known  to  purchase  1  or  having 
their  silhouettes  done  in  black  1  Ha  !  ha  !  Woolcomb  would  hardly 
have  his  face  done  in  black.  The  idea  would  provoke  odious 
comparisons.     I  see  Philip  is  in  a  dreadfully  bad  sarcastic  humour. 

Up  there  comes  from  one  of  those  trap-doors  which  lead  down 
from  the  pier-head  to  the  green  sea-waves  ever  restlessly  jumping 
below — up  there  comes  a  little  Skye-terrier  dog  with  a  red  collar, 
who  as  soon  as  she  sees  Philip,  sings,  squeaks,  whines,  runs,  jumps, 
flumps  up  on  him,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  kisses  his  hands, 
and  with  eyes,  tongue,  paws,  and  tail  shows  him  a  thousand  marks 
of  welcome  and  affection  "  AVhat,  Brownie,  Brownie  ! "  Philip 
is  glad  to  see  the  dog,  an  old  friend  who  has  many  a  time  licked  his 
hand  and  bounced  upon  his  knee. 

The  greeting  over.  Brownie,  wagging  her  tail  with  prodigious 
activity,  trots  before  Philip — trots  down  an  opening,  down  the 
steps  under  which  the  waves  shimmer  greenly,  and  into  quite  a 
quiet  remote  corner  just  over  the  water,  whence  you  may  command 


HANI)    AND    fiLOVE. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     247 

a  most  beautiful  view  of  the  sea,  the  shore,  the  Marine  Parade,  and 
the  "Albion  Hotel,"  and  where,  were  I  five-and-twenty  say,  with 
nothing  else  to  do,  I  would  gladly  pass  a  quarter  of  an  hour  talking 
about  "  Glaucus,  or  the  Wonders  of  the  Deep  "  with  the  object  of 
my  affections. 

Here,  amongst  the  labyrinth  of  piles,  Brownie  goes  flouncing 
along  till  she  conies  to  a  young  couple  who  are  looking  at  the  view 
just  described.  In  order  to  view  it  better,  the  young  man  has  laid 
his  hand,  a  pretty  little  hand,  most  delicately  gloved,  on  the  lady's 
hand ;  and  Brownie  comes  up  and  nuzzles  against  her,  and  whines 
and  talks  as  much  as  to  say,  "Here's  somebody,"  and  the  lady 
says,  "  Down,  Brownie,  miss." 

"  It's  no  good,  Agnes,  that  dog,"  says  the  gentleman  (he  has 
very  curly,  not  to  say  woolly,  hair  under  his  natty  little  hat).  "  I'll 
give  you  a  pug  with  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat  on.  I  do  know 
of  one  now.  My  man  Rummins  knows  of  one.  Do  you  like 
pugs  ? '' 

"I  adore  them,"  says  the  lady. 

"  I'll  give  you  one,  if  I  have  to  pay  fifty  pounds  for  it.  And 
they  fetch  a  good  figure,  the  real  jjugs  do,  I  can  tell  you.  Once  in 
London  there  was  an  exhibition  of  'em,  and " 

"  Brownie,  Brownie,  down  !  "  cries  Agnes.  The  dog  was  jump- 
ing at  a  gentleman,  a  tall  gentleman  with  a  red  moustache  and 
beard,  who  advances  through  the  chequered  shade,  under  the  pon- 
derous beams,  over  the  translucent  sea. 

"  Pray  don't  mind.  Brownie  won't  hurt  me,"  says  a  perfectly 
well-known  voice,  the  sound  of  which  sends  all  the  colour  shuddering 
out  of  Miss  Agnes's  pink  cheeks. 

"  You  see  I  gave  my  cousin  this  dog,  Captain  Woolcomb,"  says 
the  gentleman  ;  "and  the  little  slut  remembers  me.     Perhaps  Miss 
Tun^sden  prefers  the  pug  better." 
'"  Sir ! " 

"  If  it  has  a  nose  you  can  hang  your  hat  on,  it  must  be  a 
very  pretty  dog,  and  I  supp-ose  you  intend  to  hang  your  hat  on  it 
a  good  deal." 

"  Oil,  Philip  !  "  says  the  lady  ;  but  an  attack  of  that  dreadful 
coughing  stops  further  utterance. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

CONTAINS   Tiro   OF  PHILIFS  MISHAPS 

YOU  know  that,  in  some  parts  of  India,  infanticide  is  the 
common  custom.  It  is  part  of  the  religion  of  the  land,  as, 
in  other  districts,  widow-burning  used  to  be.  I  can't  imagine 
that  ladies  like  to  destroy  either  themselves  or  their  children, 
though  they  submit  with  bravery,  and  even  cheerfulness,  to  the 
decrees  of  that  religion  which  orders  them  to  make  away  with  their 
own  or  tlieir  young  ones'  lives.  Now,  suppose  you  and  I,  as 
Europeans,  happened  to  drive  up  where  a  young  creature  was  just 
about  to  roast  herself,  under  the  advice  of  her  family  and  the 
highest  dignitaries  of  her  church ;  what  could  we  do  ?  Rescue 
her  ?  No  such  tiling.  We  know  better  than  to  interfere  with 
her,  and  the  laws  and  usages  of  her  country.  We  turn  away  with 
a  sigh  from  the  mournful  scene ;  we  pull  out  our  pocket-liaudker- 
chiefs,  tell  coachman  to  drive  on,  and  leave  her  to  her  sad  fate. 

Now  about  poor  Agnes  Twysden  :  how,  in  the  name  of  goodness, 
can  we  help  lier?  You  see  she  is  a  well-brought-up  and  religious 
young  woman  of  tlie  Brahminical  sect.  If  she  is  to  be  sacrificed, 
that  old  Brahmin,  her  father,  that  good  and  devout  mother,  that 
most  special  Brahmin  her  brother,  and  that  admirable  girl  her 
straitlaced  sister,  all  insist  upon  her  undergoing  tlie  ceremony,  and 
deck  her  with  flowers  ere  they  lead  her  to  that  dismal  altar  flame. 
Suppose,  I  say,  she  has  made  up  her  mind  to  throw  over  poor 
Pliilip,  and  take  on  with  some  one  else  1  What  sentiment  ought 
our  virtuous  bosoms  to  entertain  towards  her?  Anger"?  I  have 
just  been  holding  a  conversation  with  a  young  fellow  in  rags  and 
witliout  shoes,  whose  bed  is  commonly  a  dry  arch,  who  has  been 
repeatedly  in  prison,  whose  father  and  mother  were  thieves,  and 
whose  graud&thers  were  thieves; — are  we  to  be  angry  with  him 
for  following  the  paternal  profession  1  Witli  one  eye  brimming 
with  pity,  the  other  steadily  keeping  watch  over  the  family  spoons, 
I  listen  to  liis  artless  tale.  I  have  no  anger  against  that  child  ; 
nor  towards  tliee,  Agnes,  daughter  of  Talbot  the  Brahmin. 

For  tlioagh  duty  is  duty,  when  it  comes  to  the  pincli,  it  is 
often  hard  to  do.      Though  dear  papa  and  mamma  say  that  here 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      249 

is  a  gentleman  with  ever  so  many  thousands  a  year,  an  undoubted 
part  in  So-ainl-So-sliire,  and  whole  islands  in  the  western  main, 
who  is  wildly  in  love  with  your  fair  skin  and  blue  eyes,  and  is 
ready  to  fling  all  his  treasures  at  your  feet ;  yet,  after  all,  when 
you  consider  that  he  is  very  ignorant,  though  very  cunning ;  very 
stingy,  though  very  rich ;  very  ill-tempered,  probably,  if  faces  and 
eyes  and  mouths  can  tell  truth  :  and  as  for  Philip  Firmin — though 
actually  his  legitimacy  is  dubious,  as  we  have  lately  heard,  in  whicli 
case  his  maternal  fortune  is  ours — and  as  for  his  paternal  inheritanci*, 
we  don't  know  whether  the  Doctor  is  worth  thirty  thousand  ])oun(ls 
or  a  shilling  ; — yet,  after  all — as  for  Philip — he  is  a  man  ;  he  is  a 
gentleman  ;  he  has  brains  in  his  head,  and  a  great  honest  heart 
of  which  he  has  off"ered  to  give  the  best  feelings  to  his  cousin  : — 
I  say,  when  a  poor  girl  has  to  be  off"  with  that  old  love,  that  honest 
and  fair  love,  and  be  on  with  the  new  one,  the  dark  one,  I  feel 
for  her ;  and  though  the  Brahmins  are,  as  we  know,  the  most 
genteel  sect  in  Hindostan,  I  rather  wish  the  poor  child  could  have 
belonged  to  some  lower  and  less  rigid  sect.  Poor  Agnes  !  to  think 
that  he  has  sat  for  hours,  with  mamma  and  Blanche  or  the  gover- 
ness, of  course,  in  the  room  (for,  you  know,  when  she  and  Philip 
were  quite  Avee  wee  things  dear  mamma  had  little  amiable  plans 
in  view)  ;  has  sat  for  hours  by  Miss  Twysden's  side  pouring  out  his 
heart  to  her ;  has  had,  mayhap,  little  precious  moments  of  confi- 
dential talk — little  hasty  whispers  in  corridors,  on  stairs,  behind 
window-curtains,  and — and  so  forth,  in  fact.  She  must  remembci- 
all  this  past ;  and  can't,  without  some  pang,  listen  on  the  same 
sofa,  behind  the  same  window-curtains,  to  her  dark  suitor  pouring 
out  his  artless  tales  of  barracks,  boxing,  horseflesh,  and  the  tender 
passion.  He  is  dull,  he  is  mean,  he  is  ill-tempered,  he  is  ignorant, 
and  the  other  was  .  .  .  ;  but  she  will  do  her  duty  :  oh  yes  !  she 
will  do  her  duty  !  Poor  Agnes  !  C^est  a  fendre  le  coeiir.  I 
declare  I  quite  feel  for  her. 

When  Philip's  temper  was  roused,  I  have  been  compelled,  as 
his  biographer,  to  own  how  very  rude  and  disagreeable  he  could  be  ; 
and  you  must  acknowledge  that  a  young  ma)i  has  some  reason  to 
be  displeased,  when  he  finds  the  girl  of  his  lieart  hand-in-haml  with 
another  young  gentleman  in  an  occult  and  shady  recess  of  tlie  wood- 
work of  Brighton  Pier.  The  green  waves  are  softly  murmuring  : 
so  is  the  officer  of  the  Life  Guards  Green.  Tlie  waves  are  kissing 
the  beach.  Ah,  agonising  thought !  I  will  not  pursue  the  simile, 
which  may  be  but  a  jealous  man's  mad  fantasy.  Of  this  I  am 
sure,  no  pebble  on  that  beacli  is  cooler  than  polished  Agnes.  But, 
then,  Philip  drmik  with  jealousy  is  not  a  reasonable  being  like 
Philip   sober.      "  He   had  a   dreadful   temper,"  Philip's   dear  aunt 


250  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

said  of  him  afterwards, — "  I  trembled  for  my  dear  gentle  child, 
united  for  ever  to  a  man  of  that  violence.  Never,  in  my  secret 
mind,  could  I  think  that  their  union  could  be  a  happy  one.  Besides, 
you  know,  the  nearness  of  their  relationship.  My  scruples  on  that 
score,  dear  Mrs.  Candour,  never,  never  could  be  quite  got  over." 
And  these  scruples  came  to  weigh  whole  tons,  when  Mangrove  Hall, 
the  house  in  Berkeley  Square,  and  Mr.  Woolcomb's  West  India 
island  were  put  into  the  scale  along  with  them. 

Of  course  there  was  no  good  in  remaining  amongst  those  damp 
reeking  timbers,  now  that  the  pretty  little  tete-a-tete  was  over. 
Little  Brownie  hung  fondling  and  whining  round  Philip's  ankles,  as 
the  party  ascended  to  the  upper  air.  "  My  child,  how  pale  you 
look  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Penfold,  putting  down  her  volume.  Out  of  the 
Captain's  opal  eyeballs  shot  lurid  flames,  and  hot  blood  burned 
behind  his  yellow  cheeks.  In  a  quarrel  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  could 
be  particularly  cool  ami  self-possessed.  When  Miss  Agnes  rather 
piteously  introduced  him  to  Mrs.  Penfold,  he  made  a  bow  as  polite 
and  gracious  as  any  performed  by  his  Royal  father.  "  My  little 
dog  knew  me,"  he  said,  caressing  the  animal.  "  She  is  a  faithful 
little  thing,  and  she  led  me  down  to  my  cousin ;  and — Captain 
Woolcomb,  I  think,  is  your  name,  sir  ] " 

As  Philip  curls  his  moustache  and  smiles  blandly.  Captain 
Woolcomb  pulls  his  and  scowls  fiercely.  "Yes,  sir,"  he  mutters, 
"my  name  is  Woolcomb."  Another  bow  and  a  touch  of  the  hat 
from  Mr.  Firmin.  A  touch  1 — a  gracious  wave  of  the  hat ;  ac- 
knowledged by  no  means  so  gracefully  by  Captain  Woolcomb. 

To  these  remarks  Mrs.  Penfold  says,  "  Oh  !  "  In  fact,  "  Oh  !  " 
is  about  the  best  thing  that  could  be  said  under  the  circumstances. 

"My  cousin,  Miss  Twysden,  looks  so  pale  because  she  was  out 
very  late  dancing  last  night.  I  hear  it  was  a  very  pretty  ball. 
But  ought  she  to  keep  sucli  late  hours,  Mrs.  Penfbld,  with  her 
delicate  health  ?  Indeed,  you  ought  not,  Agnes  !  Ought  she  to 
keep  late  hours.  Brownie  1  There — don't,  you  little  foolish  thing ! 
I  gave  my  cousin  the  dog  :  and  she's  very  fond  of  me — the  dog  is — 
still.  You  were  saying,  Captain  Woolcomb,  when  I  came  up,  that 
you  would  give  Miss  Twysden  a  dog  on  whose  nose  you  could  hang 
your I  beg  pardon  ? " 

Mr.  Woolcomb,  as  Philip  made  this  second  allusion  to  the 
peculiar  nasal  formation  of  the  pug,  ground  his  little  white  teeth 
together,  and  let  slip  a  most  improper  monosyllable.  More  acute 
bronchial  suffering  was  manifested  on  the  part  of  Miss  Twysden. 
Mrs.  Penfold  said,  "  The  day  is  clouding  over.  I  think,  Agnes,  I 
will  have  my  cliair,  and  go  home." 

"May  I  be  allowed  to  walk  with  you  as  far  as  your  house'?" 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     2.51 

says  Philip,  twiddling  a  little  locket  which  he  wore  at  his  watch- 
chain.  It  was  a  little  gold  locket,  Avith  a  little  pale  hair  inside. 
Whose  hair  could  it  have  been  that  was  so  pale  and  fine  1  As  for 
the  pretty  hieroglyphical  A.  T.  at  the  back,  tliose  letters  niiglit 
indicate  Alfred  Tennyson,  or  Anthony  Trollope,  who  might  have 
given  a  lock  of  their  golden  hair  to  Philip,  for  I  know  he  is  an 
admirer  of  their  works. 

Agnes  looked  guiltily  at  the  little  locket.  Captain  Woolcomb 
pulled  his  moustache  so,  that  you  would  have  thought  he  would 
have  pulled  it  off ;  and  his  opal  eyes  glared  with  fearful  confusion 
and  wrath. 

"  Will  you  please  to  fall  back  and  let  me  speak  to  you,  Agnes "? 
Pardon  me.  Captain  Woolcomb,  I  have  a  private  message  for  my 
cousin ;  and  I  came  from  London  expressly  to  deliver  it." 

"  If  Miss  Twysden  desires  me  to  with(lraw,  I  fall  back  in  one 
moment,"  says  the  Captain,  clenching  the  little  lemon-coloured 
gloves. 

"  My  cousin  and  I  have  lived  together  all  our  lives,  and  I  bring 
her  a  family  message.  Have  you  any  particular  claim  to  hear  it, 
Captain  Woolcomb  1 " 

"  Not  if  Mi;  s  Twysden  don't  want  me  to  hear  it D —  the 

little  brute  ! " 

"  Don't  kick  poor  little  harmless  Brownie  !  He  shan't  kick 
you,  shall  he.  Brownie  ? " 

"  If  the  brute  comes  between  my  shins,  I'll  kick  her ! "  shrieks 
the  Captain.      "  Hang  her,  I'll  throw  her  into  the  sea  !  " 

"  Whatever  you  do  to  my  dog,  I  swear  I  wiU  do  to  you  ! " 
whispers  Philip  to  the  Captain. 

"Where  are  you  staying]"  shrieks  the  Captain.  "Hang  you, 
you  shall  hear  from  me  !  " 

"Quiet — 'Bedford  Hotel.'  Easy,  or  I  shall  think  you  want 
the  ladies  to  overhear." 

"Your  conduct  is  horrible,  sir,"  says  Agnes,  rapidly,  in  the 
French  language.      "Mr.  does  not  comprehend  it." 

" it !     If  you  have  any  secrets  to  talk,  I'll  withdraw  fast 

enough.  Miss  Agnes,"  says  Othello. 

"Oh,  Crenville  !  can  I  have  any  secrets  from  youl  Mr.  Firmin 
is  my  first-cousin.  We  have  lived  togetlier  all  our  lives.  Pliilip, 
I  I  don't  know  whether  mamma  amiounced  to  you — my — my 
engagement  witli  Captain  Grcnville  Woolcomb."  The  agitation 
has  brought  on  another  severe  brnncliinl  attack.  Poor,  poor  little 
Agnes  !     Wliat  it  is  to  have  a  delicate  throat  ! 

The  pier  tosses  uj)  to  the  skies,  as  though  it  had  left  its  moor- 
ings— the  houses  on  the  cliff  dance  and  reel,  as  though  an  earth- 


252  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

quake  was  driving  them — the  sea  walks  up  into  the  lodging-houses 
— and  Philip's  legs  are  failing  from  under  him :  it  is  only  for  a 
moment.  AVhen  you  have  a  large  tough  double  tooth  out,  doesn't 
tlie  chair  go  up  to  the  ceiling,  and  your  head  come  oif  too  1  But,  in 
the  next  instant,  there  is  a  grave  gentleman  before  you,  making 
you  a  bow,  and  concealing  something  in  his  right  sleeve.  The 
crash  is  over.  You  are  a  man  again.  Philip  clutches  hold  of  the 
chain-pier  for  a  minute  :  it  does  not  sink  under  him.  The  houses, 
after  reeling  for  a  second  or  two,  reassume  the  perpendicular,  and 
bulge  their  bow-windows  towards  the  main.  He  can  see  tlie  people 
looking  from  the  windows,  the  carriages  passing,  Professor  Spurrier 
riding  on  the  cliff  with  eighteen  young  ladies,  his  pupils.  In  long- 
after  days  lie  remembers  those  absurd  little  incidents  with  a  curious 
tenacity. 

"  This  news,"  Philip  says,  "  was  not — not  altogether  unexpected. 
I  congratulate  my  cousin,  I  am  sure.  Captain  Woolcomb,  had  I 
known  this  for  certain,  I  am  sure  I  should  not  have  interrupted 
you.  You  were  going,  perhaps,  to  ask  me  to  your  hospitable  hoitse, 
Mrs.  Penfold  ? " 

"  Was  she  though  1 "  cries  the  Captain. 

"  I  have  asked  a  friend  to  dine  with  me  at  the  '  Bedford,'  and 
shall  go  to  town,  I  hope,  in  tlie  morning.  Can  I  take  anything  for 
you,  Agnes  ?  Good-bye  :  "  and  he  kisses  his  hand  in  quite  a  degage 
manner,  as  Mrs.  Penfold's  chair  turns  eastward  and  he  goes  to  the 
west.  Silently  the  tall  Agnes  sweeps  along,  a  fair  hand  laid  upon 
her  friend's  chair. 

It's  over !  it's  over !  She  has  done  it.  He  was  bound,  and 
kept  his  honour,  but  she  did  not :  it  was  she  who  forsook  him. 
And  I  fear  very  much  Mr.  Philip's  heart  leaps  with  pleasure  and 
an  immense  sensation  of  relief  at  thinking  he  is  free.  He  meets 
half-a-dozen  acquaintances  on  the  cliff.  He  laughs,  jokes,  shakes 
hands,  invites  two  or  three  to  dinner  in  the  gayest  manner.  He 
sits  down  on  that  green,  not  very  far  from  his  inn,  and  is  laughing 
to  himself,  when  he  suddenly  feels  something  nestling  at  his  knee 
— rubbing,  and  nestling,  and  whining  plaintively.  "What,  is  that 
you?"     It  is  little  Brownie,  who  has  followed  him.     Poor  little 


rogue 


Then  PhiUp  bent  down  his  head  over  the  dog,  and  as  it  jumped 
on  him,  with  little  bleats,  and  whines,  and  innocent  caresses,  he 
broke  out  into  a  sob,  and  a  great  refreshing  rain  of  tears  fell  from 
his  eyes.  Such  a  little  illness  !  Such  a  mild  fever  !  Such  a  speedy 
cure  !  Some  people  have  the  complaint  so  mildly  that  they  are 
scarcely  ever  kept  to  tlieir  beds.     Some  bear  its  scars  for  ever. 

Philip  sat  resolutely  at  the  hotel  all  night,  having  given  special 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     253 

orders  to  the  porter  to  say  that  lie  was  at  home,  in  case  any  gentle- 
man should  call.  He  liad  a  faint  hope,  he  afterwards  owned,  that 
some  friend  of  Captain  WoolooniL  mi,i,dit  wait  on  him  on  that  officer's 
part.  He  had  a  faint  hope  that  a  letter  m:glit  come  explaining  that 
treason — as  peojjle  will  have  a  sick,  gnawing,  yearning,  foolish  ilesire 
for  letters — letters  which  contain  notliing,  which  never  did  contain 

anything — letters   which,    nevertheless,   you You  know,   in 

foct,  about  those  letters,  and  there  is  no  earthly  use  in  asking  to 
read  Philip's.  Have  we  not  all  read  those  love-letters  which,  after 
love  quarrels,  come  into  court  sometimes  1  ■  We  have  all  read  them  ; 
and  how  many  have  written  them  !  Nine  o'clock.  Ten  o'clock. 
Eleven  o'clock.  No  challenge  from  the  Captain ;  no  exi)]anation 
from  Agnes.  Philip  declares  he  slept  perfectly  well.  But  poor 
little  Brownie  the  dog  made  a  piteous  howling  all  night  in  the 
stables.  She  was  not  a  well-bred  dog.  You  could  not  have  Ining 
the  least  hat  on  her  nose. 

We  compared  anon  our  dear  Agnes  to  a  Bralimin  lady,  meekly 
offering  herself  up  to  sacrifice  according  to  the  practice  used  in  her 
highly  respectable  caste.  Did  we  speak  in  anger  or  in  sorrow  ? — 
surely  in  terms  of  resi)ectful  grief  and  sympathy.  And  if  we  pity 
her,  ought  we  not  likewise  to  pity  her  highly  respectable  parents  1 
When  tlie  notorious  Brutus  ordered  his  sons  to  execution,  you  can't 
suppose  he  was  such  a  brute  as  to  be  pleased?  All  three  ])arties 
suffered  by  the  transaction  :  the  sons,  probably,  even  more  than 
their  austere  father;  but  it  stands  to  reason  that  the  whole  trio 
were  very  melancholy.  At  least,  were  I  a  poet  or  musical  composer 
depicting  that  business,  I  certainly  should  make  them  so.  The 
sons,  piping  in  a  very  minor  key  indeed ;  the  father's  manly  basso, 
accompanied  by  deep  wind  instruments,  and  interrupted  by  appro- 
priate soljs.  Though  i)retty  fair  Agnes  is  being  led  to  execution,  I 
don't  suppose  she  likes  it,  or  that  her  parents  are  hapj)y,  who  are 
compelled  to  order  the  tragedy. 

That  the  rich  young  propi-ietor  of  Mangrox  e  Hall  should  be  fond 
of  her  was  merely  a  coincidence,  Mrs.  Twysden  afterwards  always 
averred.  Not  for  mere  wealth — ah,  no  !  not  for  mines  of  gold — 
would  they  sacrifice  their  darling  child.  But  when  that  sad  Firmin 
affair  happened,  you  see  it  also  happened  that  Cai)tain  AVooh-ondi 
was  much  struck  by  dear  Agnes,  whom  he  met  everywhere.  Her 
scapegrace  of  a  cousin  would  go  nowhere.  He  i)referred  his  bachelor 
associates,  and  horril)le  smoking  and  drinking  habits,  to  the  anuise- 
ments  and  jileasures  of  more  refined  society.  He  neglected  Agnes. 
There  is  not  the  slightest  doubt  he  neglected  and  mortified  her,  and 
his  wilful  and  frciment  absence  showed  how  little  he  cared  for  her. 
Would  you  blame  the  dear  girl  for  coldness  to  a  man  who  himself 


254  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

showed  such  indifference  to  her  1  "  No,  my  good  Mrs.  Candour. 
Had  Mr.  Firmin  been  ten  times  as  rich  as  Mr.  Woolcomb,  I  should 
have  counselled  my  child  to  refuse  him.  /  take  the  responsibility 
of  the  measure  entirely  on  myself — I,  and  her  father,  and  her 
brother."  So  Mrs.  Twysden  afterwards  spoke,  in  circles  where  an 
absurd  and  odious  rumour  ran,  that  the  Twysdens  had  forced  their 
daughter  to  jilt  young  Mr.  Firmin  in  order  to  marry  a  wealthy 
quadroon.  People  will  talk,  you  know,  de  me,  de  te.  If  Wool- 
comb's  dinners  had  not  gone  off  so  after  his  marriage,  I  have  little 
doubt  the  scandal  would  iiave  died  away,  and  he  and  his  wife  might 
have  been  pretty  generally  respected  and  visited. 

Nor  must  you  suppose,  as  we  have  said,  that  dear  Agnes  gave 
up  lier  first  love  without  a  pang.  That  bronchitis  showed  how 
acutely  the  poor  thing  felt  her  position.  It  broke  out  very  soon 
after  Mr.  Woolcomb's  attentions  became  a  little  particular ;  and 
she  actually  left  London  in  consequence.  It  is  true  that  he  could 
follow  her  without  difficulty,  but  so,  for  the  matter  of  that,  could 
Philip,  as  we  have  seen  when  he  came  down  and  behaved  so  rudely 
to  Captain  Woolcomb.  And  before  Philip  came,  poor  Agnes  could 
plead,  "  My  father  pressed  me  sair,"  as  in  the  case  of  the  notorious 
Mrs.  Robin  Gray. 

Father  and  mother  both  pressed  her  sair.  Mrs.  Twysden,  I 
think  I  have  mentioned,  wrote  an  admirable  letter,  and  was  aware 
of  her  accomplishment.  She  used  to  write  reams  of  gossip  regu- 
larly every  week  to  dear  Uncle  Ringwood  when  he  was  in  the 
country :  and  when  her  daughter  Blanche  married,  she  is  said  to 
have  written  several  of  her  new  sou's  sermons.  As  a  Christian 
mother,  was  she  not  to  give  her  daughter  her  advice  at  this  momen- 
tous period  of  her  life  1  That  advice  went  against  poor  Philip's 
chances  with  his  cousin,  who  was  kept  acquainted  with  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  controversy  of  which  we  have  just  seen  the 
issue.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  Mrs.  Twysden  gave  an  impartial 
statement  of  the  case.  Wiiat  parties  in  a  lawsuit  do  speak  impar- 
tially on  their  own  side  or  their  adversaries'  1  Mrs.  Twysden's 
view,  as  I  have  learned  subsequently,  and  as  imparted  to  her 
daughter,  was  this  : — That  most  unprincipled  man,  Dr.  Firmin, 
who  had  already  attempted,  and  unjustly,  to  deprive  the  Twysdens 
of  a  part  of  their  property,  had  commenced  in  quite  early  life  his 
career  of  outrage  and  wickedness  against  the  RingVv'ood  family. 
He  had  led  dear  Lord  Ringwood's  son,  poor  dear  Lord  Cinqbars, 
into  a  career  of  vice  and  extravagance  which  caused  the  premature 
death  of  tliat  unfortunate  young  nobleman.  Mr.  Firmin  had  then 
made  a  marriage,  in  spite  of  the  tears  and  entreaties  of  Mrs. 
Twysden,  with  her  late  unhappy  sister,  whose  whole  life  had  been 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     255 

made  wretched  by  the  Doctor's  conduct.  But  tlie  climax  of  outrage 
and  wickedness  was,  tliat  when  he — lie,  a  low  jjcnniless  adventurei- — 
married  Colonel  Ringwood't*  daughter,  he  was  married  already,  as 
could  be  sworn  by  the  repentant  clergyman,  who  had  been  forced, 
by  threats  of  punishment  whic)i  Dr.  Firmin  held  over  him,  to  per- 
form the  rite  !  "  The  mind  " — Mrs.  Talliot  Twysden's  fine  mind— 
"shuddered  at  the  thought  of  such  wickedness."  But  most  of  all 
(for  to  think  ill  of  any  one  whom  she  had  once  loved  gave  her  pain) 
there  was  reason  to  believe  that  the  unhappy  Philip  Firmin  was 
his  father^ s  accomplice,  and  that  he  knew  of  his  oum  illegitimacy, 
V  inch  he  was  determined  to  set  aside  by  any  fraud  or  a7-tijice — • 
(slie  trembled,  she  wept  to  have  to  say  this :  0  Heaven  !  that 
there  should  be  such  perversity  in  Tliy  creatures  !).  And  so  little 
store  did  Philip  set  by  his  mother's  honour,  that  he  actually  visited 
the  abandoned  woman  who  acquiesced  in  her  own  infamy,  and  had 
brought  such  unspeakable  disgrace  on  the  Ringwood  flimily  !  The 
thought  of  this  crime  had  caused  Mrs.  Twysden  and  her  dear 
husband  nights  of  sleepless  anguish — had  made  them  years  and 
years  older — had  stricken  their  hearts  with  a  grief  which  must 
endure  to  the  end  of  their  days.  With  people  so  unscrupulous, 
so  grasping,  so  artful  as  Dr.  Firmin  and  (must  she  say?)  his  son, 
they  were  bound  to  be  on  their  guard;  and  though  they  ha(l 
avoided  Philip,  she  had  deemed  it  right,  on  the  rare  occasions  when 
she  and  the  young  man  whom  she  must  now  call  her  illexjitimate 
nephew  met,  to  behave  as  though  she  knew  nothing  of  tliis  most 
dreadful  controversy. 

"And  now,  dearest  child "  Surely  the   moral  is  obvious? 

The  dearest  child  "  must  see  at  once  that  any  foolish  plans  which 
were  formed  in  childish  days  and  under  frrvier  delusions  must 
be  cast  aside  for  ever  as  impossible,  as  unworthy  of  a  Twysden — 
of  a  Ringwood.  Be  not  concerned  for  the  young  man  himself," 
wrote  Mrs.  Twysden — "I  blush  that  he  should  bear  that  dear 
father's  name  M'ho  was  slain  in  honour  on  Busaco's  glorious  field. 
P.  F.  has  associates  amongst  whom  he  has  ever  been  nuich  more 
at  home  than  in  our  refined  circle,  and  habits  Avhich  will  cause  him 
to  forget  you  only  too  easily.  And  if  near  you  is  one  whose  ardour 
shows  itself  in  his  every  word  and  action,  whose  wealth  and  property 
may  raise  you  to  a  place  wortliy  of  my  child,  need  I  say,  a  motlier's 
a  father's  blessing  go  with  you."  This  letter  was  brouglit  to  IMiss 
Twysden,  at  Brighton,  by  a  special  messenger ;  and  the  su])erscrip- 
tion  annoiuiced  that  it  was  "  honoured  l)v  Ca])tain  Grenville 
Woolcomb." 

Now  when   IMiss  Agnes  has  had  a  letter  to  this  eti'ect  (I  may 
at  some  time  tell  you  how  I  came  to  be  acquainted  with  its  con- 


256  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tents) ;  when  she  remembers  all  the  abuse  her  brother  lavishes 
against  Philip  as,  Heaven  bless  some  of  them  !  dear  relatives  can 
best  do  ;  wiien  she  thinks  how  cold  he  has  of  late  been — how  he  ivill 
come  smelling  of  cigars — how  he  won't  conform  to  the  usages  du 
monde,  and  has  neglected  all  the  decencies  of  society — how  she 
often  can't  understand  his  strange  rhapsodies  about  poetry,  painting, 
and  the  like,  nor  how  he  can  live  with  such  associates  as  those  who 
seem  to  delight  him — and  now  how  he  is  showing  himself  actually 
unprmdpled  and  abetting  his  horrid  father;  when  we  consider 
raither  pressing  sair,  and  all  these  points  in  mither's  favour,  I 
don't  think  we  can  order  Agnes  to  instant  execution  for  the  resolu- 
tion to  which  she  is  coming.  She  will  give  him  up— she  will  give 
him  up.  Good-bye,  Philip.  Good-bye  the  past.  Be  forgotten,  be 
forgotten,  fond  words  spoken  in  not  unwilling  ears  !  Be  still  and 
breathe  not,  eager  lips,  that  have  trembled  so  near  to  one  another ! 
Unlock,  hands,  and  part  for  ever,  that  seemed  to  be  formed  for 
life's  long  journey  !  Ah,  to  part  for  ever  is  hard  ;  but  harder  and 
more  humiliating  still  to  part  without  regret ! 

That  papa  and  mamma  had  influenced  Miss  Twysden  in  her 
behaviour  my  wife  and  I  could  easily  imagine,  when  Philip,  in  his 
wrath  and  grief,  came  to  us  and  poured  out  the  feelings  of  his  heart. 
My  wife  is  a  repository  of  men's  secrets,  an  untiring  consoler  and 
comforter ;  and  she  knows  many  a  sad  story  which  we  are  not  at 
liberty  to  tell,  like  this  one  of  which  this  person,  Mr.  Firmin,  has 
given  us  possession. 

"  Father  and  mother's  orders,"  shouts  Philip,  "  I  daresay,  Mrs. 
Pendennis  ;  but  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought  of  parting,  and 
it  was  for  the  blackamoor's  parks  and  acres  that  the  girl  jilted  me. 
Look  here.  I  told  you  just  now  that  I  slept  perfectly  well  on  that 
infernal  niglit  after  I  had  said  farewell  to  her.  Well,  I  didn't.  It 
was  a  lie.  I  walked  ever  so  many  times  the  whole  length  of  the 
cliff,  from  Hove  to  Rottingdean  almost,  and  then  went  to  bed 
afterwards,  and  slept  a  little  out  of  sheer  fatigue.  And  as  I  was 
passing  by  Horizontal  Terrace— (I  happened  to  pass  by  there  two 
or  three  times  in  the  moonlight,  like  a  great  jackass) — you  know 
those  verses  of  mine  which  I  have  hummed  here  sometimes?" 
(Hummed !  he  used  to  roar  them !)  " '  When  tire  locks  of 
burnished  gold,  lady,  shall  to  silver  turn  ! '  Never  mind  the  rest. 
You  know  the  verses  about  fidelity  and  old  age  1  She  was  singing 
tliem  on  that  niglit,  to  that  negro.  And  I  heard  the  beggar's  voice 
say,  '  Bravo  ! '  through  the  open  windows." 

"  Ah,  Pliilip  !  it  was  cruel,"  says  my  wife,  heartily  pitying  our 
friend's  anguish  and  misfortune.  "  It  was  cruel  indeed.  I  am 
sure  we  can  feel  for  you.     But  think  what  certain  micery  a  marriage 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      257 

with  such  a  person  would  have  been  !     Think  of  your  warm  heart 
given  away  for  ever  to  that  heartless  creature." 

"  Laura,  Laura,  have  you  not  often  warned  me  not  to  speak  ill 
of  people  ? "  says  Laura's  husband. 

"  I  can't  help  it  sometimes,"  cries  Laura  in  a  transport.  "  I 
try  and  do  my  best  not  to  speak  ill  of  my  neighbours ;  but  the 
worldliness  of  those  people  shocks  me  so  that  I  can't  bear  to  be 
near  them.  They  are  so  utterly  tied  and  bound  by  convention- 
alities, so  perfectly  convinced  of  their  own  excessive  high-breeding, 
that  they  seem  to  me  more  odious  and  more  vulgar  than  quite  low 
people ;  and  I'm  sure  Mr.  Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister,  is 
infinitely  more  ladylike  than  his  dreary  aunt  or  either  of  his  super- 
cilious cousins ! "  Upon  my  word,  when  this  lady  did  speak  her 
mind,  there  was  no  mistaking  her  meaning. 

I  believe  Mr.  Firmin  took  a  considerable  number  of  people  into 
his  confidence  regarding  this  love  afiair.  He  is  one  of  those 
individuals  who  can't  keep  their  secrets ;  and  when  hurt  he  roars 
so  loudly  that  all  his  friends  can  hear.  It  has  been  remarked  that 
the  sorrows  of  such  persons  do  not  endure  very  long ;  nor  surely 
was  there  any  great  need  in  this  instance  that  Philijj's  heart  should 
wear  a  lengthened  mourning.  Ere  long  he  smoked  his  pipes,  he 
played  his  billiards,  he  shouted  his  songs ;  he  rode  in  the  Park  for 
the  pleasure  of  severely  cutting  his  aunt  and  cousins  when  their 
open  carriage  passed,  or  of  riding  down  Captain  Woolcomb  or  his 
cousin  Ringwood,  should  either  of  those  worthies  come  in  his  way. 

One  day,  when  the  old  Lord  Ringwood  came  to  town  for  his 
accustomed  spring  visit,  Philip  condescended  to  wait  upon  him, 
and  was  announced  to  his  Lordship  just  as  Talbot  Twysden  and 
Ringwood  liis  son  were  taking  leave  of  tlieir  noble  kinsman.  Pliili]) 
looked  at  them  with  a  flashing  eye  and  a  distended  nostril,  accoi'd- 
ing  to  liis  swaggering  wont.  I  daresay  they  on  their  part  bore  a 
very  mean  and  hangdog  appearance ;  for  my  Lord  laughed  at  tiieii- 
discomfiture,  and  seemed  immensely  amused  as  they  slunk  out  of 
the  door  when  Philip  came  hectoring  in. 

"  So,  sir,  there  has  been  a  fiimily  row.  Heard  all  about  it  :  at 
least,  their  side.  Your  father  did  me  the  favour  to  marry  my  niece, 
having  another  wife  already  1 " 

"Having  no  otlier  wife  already,  sir — though  my  dear  relations 
were  anxious  to  show  tliat  he  had." 

"  Wanted  your  nuiney  ;  thirty  thousiuid  jxnuid  is  nut  a  trifle. 
Ten  thousand  apiece  for  tliose  children.  And  no  more  need  of  any 
confounded  piiicliing  and  scraping,  as  they  have  to  do  at  Heaunasli 
Street.  Affair  off  between  you  and  Agnes?  Absurd  afiair.  So 
much  the  better." 

11  R 


258  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"Yes,  sir,  so  much  the  better." 

"  Have  ten  thousand  apiece.  Would  have  twenty  thousand  if 
they  got  yours.     Quite  natural  to  want  it." 

"  Quite." 

"  Woolcomb  a  sort  of  negro,  I  understand.  Fine  property  here  : 
besides  the  West  India  rubbish.  Violent  man — so  people  tell  me. 
Luckily  Agnes  seems  a  cool  easy-going  woman,  and  must  put  up 
with  the  rough  as  well  as  the  smooth  in  marrying  a  property  like 
that.  Very  lucky  for  you  that  that  woman  persists  there  Avas  no 
marriage  with  your  fether.  Twysden  says  the  Doctor  bribed  her. 
Take  it  he's  not  got  much  money  to  bribe,  unless  you  gave  some  of 
yours." 

"  I  don't  bribe  peojjle  to  bear  false  witness,  my  Lord — and 
if " 

"Don't  be  in  a  huff;  I  didn't  say  so.  Twysden  says  so — 
perhaps  thinks  so.  Wlien  people  are  at  law  they  believe  anything 
of  one  another." 

"  I  don't  know  what  other  people  may  do,  sir.  If  I  had  another 
man's  money,  I  should  not  be  easy  until  I  had  paid  him  back. 
Had  my  share  of  my  grandfather's  property  not  been  lawfully  mine 
— and  for  a  few  hours  I  thought  it  was  not — please  God,  I  would 
have  given  it  up  to  its  rightful  owners — at  least,  my  father  would." 

"  Why,  hang  it  all,  man,  you  don't  mean  to  say  your  father  has 
not  settled  with  you  1  " 

Philip  blushed  a  little.  He  had  been  rather  surprised  that 
there  had  been  no  settlement  between  him  and  his  father. 

"  I  am  only  of  age  a  few  months,  sir.  I  am  not  under  any 
apprehension.  I  get  my  dividends  regularly  enough.  One  of  my 
grandfather's  trustees,  General  Baynes,  is  in  India.  He  is  to  return 
almost  immediately,  or  we  should  have  sent  a  power  of  attorney  out 
to  him.     There's  no  hurry  about  the  business." 

Philip's  maternal  grandfather,  and  Lord  Ringwood's  brother, 
the  late  Colonel  Philip  Riugwood,  had  died  possessed  of  but  trifling 
property  of  his  own ;  but  his  wife  had  brought  him  a  fortune  of 
sixty  thousand  pounds,  which  was  settled  on  their  children,  and  in 
the  names  of  trustees — Mr.  Briggs,  a  lawyer,  and  Colonel  Baynes, 
ail  East  India  ofticer,  and  friend  of  Mrs.  Philip  Ringwood's  family. 
Colonel  Baynes  had  been  in  England  some  eight  years  before ;  and 
Philip  remembered  a  kind  old  gentleman  coming  to  see  him  at  school, 
and  leaving  tokens  of  his  bounty  behind.  The  other  trustee,  Mr. 
Briggs,  a  lawyer  of  considerable  county  reputation,  was  dead  long 
since,  having  left  his  aftairs  in  an  involved  condition.  During  the 
trustee's  absence  and  the  son's  minority,  Philip's  father  received  the 
dividends  on  his  son's  property,  and  liberally  spent  them  on  the 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     259 

boy.  Indeed,  I  believe  that  for  some  little  time  at  college,  and 
during  his  first  journeys  abroad,  Mr.  Philip  spent  rather  more  than 
the  income  of  his  maternal  inheritance,  being  freely  supplied  by  his 
father,  Avho  told  him  not  to  stint  himself  He  was  a  sumptuous 
man,  Dr.  Firmin — open-handed — subscribing  to  many  charities — a 
lover  of  solemn  good  cheer.  The  Doctor's  dinners  and  the  Doctor's 
equipages  were  models  in  their  way  ;  and  I  remember  the  sincere 
respect  with  which  my  uncle  the  Major  (the  family  guide  in  such 
matters)  used  to  speak  of  Dr.  Firn)in's  taste.  "  No  duchess  in 
London,  sir,"  he  would  say,  "drove  better  horses  than  Mrs.  Firmin. 
Sir  George  Warrender,  sir,  could  not  give  a  better  dinner,  sir,  than 
tliat  to  which  we  sat  down  yesterday."  And  for  the  exercise  of  these 
civic  virtues  the  Doctor  had  the  hearty  respect  of  the  good  Major. 

"  Don't  tell  me,  sir,"  on  the  other  hand.  Lord  Ringwood  would 
say;  "I  dined  with  the  fellow  once — a  swaggering  fellow,  sir;  but 
a  servile  fellow.  The  way  he  bowed  and  flattered  was  perfectly 
absurd.  Those  fellows  think  we  like  it — and  we  may.  Even  at 
my  age,  I  like  flattery — any  quantity  of  it  ;  and  not  what  you  call 
delicate,  but  strong,  sir.  I  like  a  man  to  kneel  down  and  kiss  my 
shoe-strings.  I  have  my  own  opinion  of  him  aftei-wards,  but  that 
is  what  I  like — what  all  men  like ;  and  that  is  what  Firmin  gave 
in  quantities.  But  you  could  see  that  his  house  was  monstrously 
expensive.  His  dinner  was  excellent,  and  you  saw  it  was  good 
every  day— not  like  your  dinners,  my  good  Maria ;  not  like  your 
wines,  Twysden,  which,  hang  it,  I  can't  swallow,  unless  I  send  'em 
in  myself  Even  at  my  own  house,  I  don't  give  that  kind  of  wine 
on  common  occasions  which  Firmin  used  to  give.  I  drink  the  best 
myself,  of  course,  and  give  it  to  some  who  know ;  but  I  don't  give 
it  to  common  fellows,  who  come  to  hunting  dinners,  or  to  girls  and 
boys  who  are  dancing  at  my  balls." 

"  Yes  ;  Mr.  Firmin's  dinners  were  very  handsome — and  a  pretty 
end  came  of  tlie  handsome  dinners  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Twysden. 

"  That's  not  the  question  ;  I  am  only  speaking  about  the  fellow's 
meat  and  drink,  and  they  were  both  good.  And  it's  my  opinion, 
that  fellow  will  have  a  good  dinner  wherever  he  goes." 

I  had  the  fortune  to  be  present  at  one  of  these  feasts,  which 
Lord  Ringwood  attended,  and  at  which  I  met  Philip's  trustee. 
General  Baynes,  who  hail  just  arrived  from  India.  I  remember 
now  tlie  smallest  details  of  the  little  diiuier, — tlie  brightness  of  the 
old  plate,  on  which  the  Doctor  ])rided  liiniself,  and  the  quiet  com- 
fort, not  to  say  splendour,  of  the  entertainment.  Tlu>  General 
seemed  to  take  a  great  liking  to  Philij).  whose  grandfather  had 
been  his  special  friend  and  comrade  in  arms.  He  thought  he  saw 
something  of  I'liilip  Ringwood  in  Philip  Firmin's  face. 


260  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Ah,  indeed  !  "  growls  Lord  Ringwood. 

"You  ain't  a  bit  like  him,"  says  the  downright  General. 
"  Never  saw  a  handsomer  or  more  open-looking  fellow  than 
Philip  Ringwood." 

"  Oh  !  I  daresay  I  looked  pretty  open  myself  forty  years  ago," 
said  my  Lord ;  "  now  I'm  sliut,  I  suppose.  I  don't  see  the  least 
likeness  in  this  young  man  to  my  brother." 

"  That  is  some  sherry  as  old  as  the  century,"  whispers  the  host ; 
"it  is  the  same  the  Prince  Regent  liked  so  at  a  Mansion  House 
dinner,  five-and-twenty  years  ago." 

"  Never  knew  anything  about  wine ;  was  always  tippling 
liqueurs  and  punch.     What  do  you  give  for  this  sherry,  Doctor  1 " 

The  Doctor  sighed,  and  looked  up  to  the  chandelier.  "Drink 
it  while  it  lasts,  my  good  Lord  ;  but  don't  ask  me  the  price.  The 
fact  is,  I  don't  like  to  say  what  I  gave  for  it." 

"You  need  not  stint  yourself  in  the  price  of  sherry,  Doctor," 
cries  the  General  gaily ;  "  you  have  but  one  son,  and  he  has  a 
fortune  of  his  own,  as  I  happen  to  know.  You  haven't  dipped 
it,  Master  Philip  1 " 

"  I  fear,  sir,  I  may  have  exceeded  my  income  sometimes,  in  the 
last  three  years ;  but  my  father  has  helped  me." 

"  Exceeded  nine  hundred  a  year  !  Upon  my  word  !  When  I 
was  a  sub,  my  friends  gave  me  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  I  never  was 
a  shilling  in  debt !     What  are  men  coming  to  now  ? " 

"  If  doctors  drink  Prince  Regent's  sherry  at  ten  guineas  a  dozen- 
what  can  you  expect  of  their  sons.  General  Baynesi"  grumbles 
my  Lord. 

"  My  father  gives  you  his  best,  my  Lord,"  says  Philip  gaily ; 
"  if  you  know  of  any  better,  he  will  get  it  for  you.  Si  non  his 
titere  mecum  !     Please  to  jmss  me  that  decanter.  Pen  !  " 

I  thought  the  old  lord  did  not  seem  ill  pleased  at  the  young 
man's  freedom  ;  and  now,  as  I  recall  it,  think  I  can  remember  that 
a  peculiar  silence  and  anxiety  seemed  to  weigh  upon  our  host — 
upon  him  whose  face  was  commonly  so  anxious  and  sad. 

The  famous  sherry,  which  had  made  many  voyages  to  Indian 
climes  before  it  acquired  its  exquisite  flavour,  had  travelled  some 
three  or  four  times  round  the  Doctor's  polished  table,  when  Brice, 
his  man,  entered  with  a  letter  on  his  silver  tray.  Perhaps  Philip's 
eyes  and  mine  exchanged  glances  in  which  ever  so  small  a  scintilla 
of  mischief  might  sparkle.  The  Doctor  often  had  letters  when  he 
was  entertaining  his  friends  ;  and  his  patients  had  a  knack  of  falling 
ill  at  awkward  times. 

"  Gracious  Heavens ! "  cries  the  Doctor,  when  he  read  the 
despatch — it  was  a  telegraphic  message.     "  The  poor  Grand  Duke  !  " 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     26l 

"What  Grand  Duke  V  asks  the  surly  Lord  of  Ringwood. 

"  My  earliest  patron  and  friend — the  Grand  Duke  of  Griiningen ! 
Seized  this  morning  at  eleven  at  Potzendorff !  Has  sent  for  me. 
I  promised  to  go  to  him  if  ever  he  had  need  of  me  !  I  must  go  ! 
I  can  save  the  night-train  yet.  General !  our  visit  to  tlie  City 
must  be  deferred  till  my  return.  Get  a  portmanteau,  Brice  ;  and 
eall  a  cab  at  once.  Phih])  will  entertain  my  friends  for  the  evening. 
My  dear  Lord,  you  won't  mind  an  old  doctor  leaving  you  to  attend 
an  old  patient  1  I  will  write  from  Griiningen.  I  shall  be  there  on 
Friday  morning.  Farewell,  gentlemen  !  Bi'ice,  another  bottle  of 
that  sherry  !  I  pray,  don't  let  anybody  stir  !  God  bless  you, 
Philip  my  boy  ! "  And  with  this  the  Doctor  went  up,  took  his 
son  by  the  hand,  and  laid  the  other  very  kindly  on  the  young 
man's  shoulder.  Then  he  made  a  bow  round  the  table  to  his 
guests — one  of  his  graceful  bows,  for  which  he  was  famous.  I 
can  see  the  sad  smile  on  his  face  now,  and  the  light  from  the 
chandelier  over  the  dining-table  glancing  from  his  shining  fore- 
head and  casting  deep  shadows  on  to  his  cheek  from  his  heavy 
brows. 

The  departure  was  a  little  abrupt,  and  of  course  cast  somewhat 
of  a  gloom  upon  the  company. 

"  My  carriage  ain't  ordered  till  ten — must  go  on  sitting  here,  I 
suppose.  Confounded  life  doctor's  must  be  !  Called  up  any  hour 
in  the  night !  Get  their  fees  !  Must  go  !  "  growled  the  great  man 
of  the  partJ^ 

"People  are  glad  enough  to  have  them  when  they  are  ill, 
my  Lord.  I  think  I  have  heard  that  once  when  you  were  at 
Ryde " 

The  great  man  started  back  as  if  a  little  shock  of  cold  water 
had  fallen  on  him  ;  and  then  looked  at  Philip  with  not  unfriendly 
glances.  "  Treated  for  gout — so  he  did.  Very  well,  too  !  "  said 
my  Lord;  and  whispered,  not  inaudibly,  "Cool  hand  that  boy!" 
And  then  liis  Lordsliip  fell  to  tnlk  with  General  Baynes  about  his 
campaigning,  and  his  early  ac»]uaintance  with  his  own  brother, 
Philip's  grandfather. 

The  General  did  not  care  to  brag  aliout  his  own  feats  of  arms, 
but  was  loud  in  jmxises  of  his  old  comrade.  Philij)  was  pleased  to 
hear  his  grandsire  so  well  spoken  of.  The  General  had  known  Dr. 
Firmin's  father  also,  who  likewise  had  been  a  colonel  in  the  famous 
old  Peninsular  army.  "A  Tartar  that  fellow  was,  and  no 
mistake  !  "  said  the  good  officer.  "  Your  father  has  a  strong  look 
of  him  ;  and  you  have  a  glance  of  him  at  times.  But  you  remind 
me  of  Philip  Ringwood  not  a  little ;  and  you  could  not  belong  to  a 
better  man." 


262  THE    ADYENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Ha  !  "  says  my  Lord.  There  had  been  differences  between 
him  and  his  brother.  He  may  have  been  thinking  of  days  when 
they  were  friends.  Lord  Ringwood  now  graciously  asked  if 
General  Baynes  was  staying  in  London  1  But  the  General  had  only 
come  to  do  this  piece  of  business,  which  must  now  be  delayed.  He 
was  too  poor  to  live  in  London.  He  nuist  look  out  for  a  country 
place,  where  he  and  his  six  children  could  live  cheaply.  "Three 
boys  at  school,  and  one  at  college,  Mr.  Philip — you  know  what 
that  must  cost ;  though,  thank  my  stars,  my  college  boy  does  not 
spend  nine  hundred  a  year.  Nine  hundred !  Where  should  we  be 
if  he  did  ? "  In  fact,  the  days  of  nabobs  are  long  over,  and  the 
General  had  come  back  to  his  native  country  with  only  very  small 
means  for  the  support  of  a  great  family. 

When  my  Lord's  carriage  came,  he  departed,  and  the  other 
guests  presently  took  their  leave.  The  General,  who  was  a 
bachelor  for  the  nonce,  remained  a  while,  and  we  three  prattled 
over  cheroots  in  Philip's  smoking-room.  It  was  a  night  like  a 
hundred  I  have  spent  there,  and  yet  how  well  I  remember  it !  We 
talked  about  Philip's  future  prospects,  and  he  communicated  his 
intentions  to  us  in  his  lordly  way.  As  for  practising  at  the  bar : 
"  No,  sir,"  he  said,  in  reply  to  General  Baynes's  queries,  "he  should 
not  make  much  hand  of  that ;  shouldn't  if  he  were  ever  so  poor. 
He  had  his  own  money,  and  his  father's ;  "  and  he  condescended  to 
say  that  "  he  might,  perhaps,  try  for  Parliament  should  an  eligible 
opportunity  offer."  "  Here's  a  fellow  born  with  a  silver  spoon  in 
his  mouth,"  says  the  General,  as  we  walked  away  together.  "A 
fortune  to  begin  with ;  a  fortune  to  inherit.  My  fortune  was  two 
thousand  pounds,  and  the  price  of  my  two  first  commissions ;  and 
when  I  die  my  children  will  not  be  quite  so  well  off  as  their  father 
was  when  he  began  !  " 

Having  parted  with  the  old  officer  at  his  modest  sleeping 
quarters  near  his  club,  I  walked  to  my  own  house,  little  thinking 
that  yonder  cigar,  of  which  I  had  shaken  some  of  the  ashes  in 
Philip's  smoking-room,  was  to  be  the  last  tolmcco  I  ever  should 
smoke  there.  The  pipe  was  smoked  out.  The  wine  was  drunk. 
When  that  door  closed  on  me,  it  closed  for  the  last  time — at  least 
was  never  more  to  admit  me  as  Philip's,  as  Dr.  Firmin's,  guest  and 
friend.  I  pass  the  place  often  now.  My  youth  comes  back  to  me 
as  I  gaze  at  those  blank  shining  windows.  I  see  myself  a  boy  and 
Philip  a  child  ;  and  his  fair  mother ;  and  his  father,  the  hospitable, 
the  melancholy,  the  magnificent.  I  wish  I  could  have  helped  him. 
I  wish  somehow  he  had  borrowed  money.  He  never  did.  He 
gave  me  his  often.  I  ha,ve  never  seen  him  since  that  night  when 
his  own  door  closed  upon  him. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      263 

On  the  second  day  after  the  Doctor's-  departure,  as  I  was  at 
breakfast  with  my  family,  I  received  tlie  following  letter : — 

"My  dear  Pendennis, — Could  I  have  seen  you  in  private 
on  Tuesday  night,  I  might  have  warned  you  of  the  calamity  which 
was  hanging  over  my  house.  But  to  what  good  end?  That  you 
should  know  a  few  weeks,  hours,  before  what  all  the  world  will 
ring  with  to-morrow?  Neither  you  nor  I,  nor  one  whom  we  both 
love,  would  have  been  the  happier  for  knowing  my  misfortunes  a 
few  hours  sooner.  In  four-and-twenty  hours  every  club  in  London 
will  be  busy  with  talk  of  the  departure  of  the  celebrated  Dr. 
Firmin — the  wealthy  Dr.  Firmin ;  a  few  months  more  and  (I  have 
strict  and  covfidential  reason  to  believe)  hereditary  rank  would 
have  been  mine,  but  Sir  George  Firmin  would  have  been  an  insol- 
vent man,  and  his  son  Sir  Philip  a  beggar.  Perhaps  the  thought 
of  this  honour  has  been  one  of  tlie  reasons  which  has  determined 
me  on  expatriating  myself  sooner  than  I  otherwise  needed  to 
have  done. 

"  George  Firmin,  the  honoured,  the  wealthy  physician,  and  his 
son  a  beggar  1  I  see  you  are  startled  at  the  news !  You  wonder 
how,  with  a  great  practice,  and  no  great  ostensible  expenses,  such 
ruin  should  have  come  upon  me — upon  him.  It  has  seemed  as  if 
for  years  past  Fate  has  been  determined  to  make  war  upon  George 
Brand  Firmin;  and  who  can  battle  against  Fate?  A  man  imi- 
versally  admitted  to  be  of  good  judgment,  I  have  embarked  in  mer- 
cantile speculations  the  most  promising. '  Everything  upon  wliich 
I  laid  my  hand  has  crumbled  to  ruin ;  but  I  can  say  with  the 
Roman  bard,  '  Impavidum  ferieut  ruinu'.'  And,  almost  penniless, 
almost  aged,  an  exile  driven  from  my  country,  I  seek  another  where 
I  do  not  dcspaii- — /  even  have  a  firm  belief  that  I  shall  be  enabled 
to  repair  my  shattered  fortunes  !  My  race  has  never  been  deficient 
in  courage,  and  Philip  and  Philiji's  father,  must  use  all  theirs,  so  as 
to  be  enabled  to  face  the  dark  times  which  menace  them.  'Si 
celeres  quatit  pennas  Fortuna,'  we  must  resign  what  she  gave  us, 
and  bear  our  calamity  with  mishaken  hearts  ! 

"  There  is  a  man,  I  own  to  you,  whom  I  cannot,  I  must  not, 
face.  General  Baynes  has  just  come  from  India,  with  but  very 
small  savings,  I  fear;  and  these  are  jeoi)ardised  by  his  imprudence 
and  my  most  cruel  and  unexpected  misfortune.  I  need  not  toll 
you  that  my  all  would  have  been  my  boy's.  My  will,  made  long 
since,  will  be  found  in  the  tortoiscshcll  secretaire  standing  in  my 
consulting-room  imder  tlie  jncture  of  Aliraham  offering  uj)  Isaac. 
In  it  you  will  see  that  everything,  cxcGff)t  annuities  to  old  and 
deserving  servants  and  a  legacy  to  one  excellent  and  faithful  woman 


264  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

whom  I  own  I  have  wronged — my  all,  wliich  once  was  considerable, 
is  left  to  my  bof/. 

"  I  am  now  worth  less  than  notliing,  and  haA'e  compromised 
Philip's  property  along  with  my  own.  As  a  man  of  business, 
General  Baynes,  Colonel  Ringwood's  old  companion  in  arms,  was 
culpably  careless,  and  I — alas  that  I  must  own  it ! — deceived  him. 
Being  the  only  surviving  trustee  (Mrs.  Philip  Ringwood's  other 
trustee  was  an  unprincipled  attorney  who  has  been  long  dead). 
General  B.  signed  a  paper  authorising,  as  he  imagined,  my  bankers 
to  receive  Philip's  dividends,  but,  in  fact,  giving  me  the  power  to 
dispose  of  the  capital  sum.  On  my  honour,  as  a  man,  as  a  gentle- 
man, as  a  father,  Pendennis,  I  hojjed  to  replace  it !  I  took  it ;  I 
embarked  it  in  speculations  in  which  it  sank  down  with  ten  times 
the  amount  of  my  own  private  property.  Half-year  after  half-year, 
with  straitened  means  and  with  the  greatest  difficult?/  to  mi/self,  my 
poor  boy  has  had  his  dividend ;  and  he  at  least  has  never  known 
what  was  want  or  anxiety  until  noAV.  Want  1  Anxiety  1  Pray 
Heaven  he  never  may  suffer  the  sleepless  anguish,  the  racking  care 
which  has  pursued  me !  '  Post  equitem  sedet  atra  cura,'  our 
favourite  poet  says.  Ah  !  how  truly,  too,  does  he  remark,  '  Patriae 
quis  exul  se  quoque  fugit  1 '  Think  you  where  I  go  grief  and  re- 
morse will  not  follow  me  1  They  will  never  leave  me  until  I  shall 
return  to  this  country — for  that  I  shall  return,  my  heart  tells  me 
— until  I  can  reimburse  General  Baynes,  who  stands  indebted  to 
Philip  through  his  incautiousness  and  my  overpowering  necessity ; 
and  ray  heart — an  erring  but  fond  father's  heart — tells  me  that  my 
boy  will  not  eventually  lose  a  penny  by  my  misfortune. 

"  I  own,  between  ourselves,  that  this  illness  of  the  Grand  Duke 
of  Groningen  Avas  a  pretext  whicli  I  put  forward.  You  will  hear 
of  me  ere  long  from  the  place  whither  for  some  time  past  I  have 
determined  on  bending  my  steps.  I  placed  £100  on  Saturday,  to 
Philiii's  credit,  at  his  banker's.  I  take  little  more  than  that  sum 
with  me  ;  depressed,  yet  full  of  hope ;  having  done  wrong,  yet 
determined  to  retrieve  it,  and  vowing  that  ere  I  die  my  poor  boy 
sli:dl  not  have  to  blush  at  bearing  the  name  of 

"  George  Brand  Firmin. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Philip  !  Your  old  friend  will  tell  you  of  my 
misfortunes.  AVhen  I  write  again,  it  will  be  to  tell  you  where  to 
address  me ;  and  wherever  I  am,  or  whatever  misfortunes  oppress 
me,  think  of  me  always  as  your  fond  Father." 

I  had  scarce  read  this  awful  letter  wdien  Philip  Firmin  himself 
came  into  our  breakfast-room  looking  verv  much  disturbed. 


CHAP  TER   XV 

SAMARITANS 

THE  children  trotted  up  to  their  friend  with  outstretched  hands 
:ind  their  usual  smiles  of  welcome.  Philip  patted  their 
heads,  and  sat  down  with  very  woebegone  aspect  at  the 
family  table.      "Ah,  friends,"  said  he,  "do  you  know  all"? " 

"  Yes,  we  do,"  said  Laura  sadly,  who  has  ever  compassion  for 
others'  misfortunes. 

"  What !  is  it  all  over  the  town  already  1 "  asked  poor  Philip. 

"We  have  a  letter  from  your  father  this  morning."  And  we 
brought  the  letter  to  him,  and  showed  him  the  affectionate  special 
message  for  himself. 

"  His  last  thought  was  for  you,  Philip  !  "  cries  Laura.  "  See 
here,  those  last  kind  words  !  " 

Philip  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  not  untrue,  what  is  written  here  : 
but  it  is  not  all  the  truth."  And  Philip  Firmiu  dismayed  us  by 
the  intelligence  which  hc^  proceeded  to  give.  There  was  an  execu- 
tion in  the  house  in  Old  Parr  Street.  A  hundred  clamorous  crediti^i'S 
had  already  ai)peared  there.  Before  going  away,  the  Doctor  liad 
taken  considerable  sums  from  tliose  dangerous  financiers  to  whom 
he  had  been  of  late  resorting.  They  were  in  possession  of  number- 
less lately  ^gned  bills,  upon  which  the  desperate  man  had  raised 
money.  He  had  professed  to  share  with  Philij),  but  he  had  taken 
the  great  share,  and  left  Philip  two  hundred  jiounds  of  his  own 
money.  All  the  rest  was  gone.  All  Philip  s  stock  had  been  sold 
out.  The  father's  fraud  had  made  him  master  of  the  trustee's 
signature  :  and  Philip  Firmin,  rejuited  to  be  so  wealthy,  ^\■as  a 
beggar,  in  my  room.  Luckily  he  had  few,  or  verj^  trifling  debts. 
Mr.  Philip  had  a  lordly  imi)atience  of  indebtedness,  and,  with  a 
good  bacheltjr  income,  had  paid  for  all  liis  ])leasures  as  he  enjoyed 
them. 

Well  !  He  must  work.  A  ynuug  man  ruincil  at  two-aiid- 
twenty,  with  a  couple  of  hundred  i)ounds  yet  in  his  pocket,  hardly 
knows  that  he  is  ruined.  He  will  sell  his  horses — live  in  chambers 
— has  enough  to  go  on  for  a  year.  "  When  I  am  very  hard  put  to 
it,"  says  ]Miili]>,  "  I  will  come  and  dine  with  the  children  at  one.     I 


266  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

daresay  you  haven't  dined  much  at  Williams's  in  the  Old  Bailey  1 
You  can  get  a  famous  dinner  there  for  a  shilling — beef,  bread, 
potatoes,  beer,  and  a  penny  for  the  waiter."  Yes,  Philip  seemed 
actually  to  enjoy  his  discomfiture.  It  was  long  since  we  had  seen 
him  in  such  spirits.  "  The  weight  is  off  my  mind  now.  It  has 
been  throttling  me  for  some  time  past.  Without  understanding 
why  or  wherefore,  I>  have  always  been  looking  out  for  this.  My 
poor  father  had  ruin  written  in  his  face ;  and  when  those  bailiffs 
made  their  appearance  in  Old  Parr  Street  yesterday,  I  felt  as  if  I 
had  known  them  before.  I  had  seen  their  hooked  beaks  in  my 
dreams." 

"That  unlucky.  General  Baynes,  when  he  accepted  your 
mother's  trust,  took 'it  with  its  consequences.  If  the  sentry  falls 
asleep  on  his  post,  he  must  pay  the  penalty,"  says  Mr.  Pendennis, 
very  severely. 

"  Great  powers,  you  would  not  have  me  come  down  on  an  old 
man  with  a  large  family,  and  ruin  them  all  ? "  cries  Philip. 

"  No  :  I  don't  think  Philip  will  do  that,"  says  my  wife,  looking 
exceedingly  pleased. 

"  If  men  accept  trusts  they  must  fulfil  them,  my  dear,"  cries 
the  master  of  the  house. 

"  And  I  must  make  that  old  gentleman  suffer  for  my  father's 
wrong  1     If  I  do,  may  I  starve  !  there  !  "  cries  Philip. 

"  And  so  that  poor  Little  Sister  has  made  her  sacrifice  in  vain  !  " 
sighed  my  wife.  "  As  for  the  father — ^oh,  Arthur !  I  can't  tell 
you  how  odious  that  man  was  to  me.  There  was  something 
dreadful  about  him.    '  And  in  his  manner  to  women — oh  ! " 

"If  he  had  been  a  black  draught,  my  dear,  you  could  not  have 
shuddered  more  naturally." 

"  Well,  he  was  horrible  :  and  I  know  Philip  will  be  better  now 
he  is  gone." 

Women  often  make  light  of  ruin.  Give  them  but  the  beloved 
objects,  and  poverty  is  a  trifling  sorrow  to  bear.  As  for  Pliilip,  he, 
as  we  have  said,  is  gayer  than  he  has  been  for  years  past.  The 
Doctor's  flight  occasions  not  a  little  club  talk :  but,  now  he  is  gone, 
many  people-  see  quite  well  that  they  were  aware  of  his  insolvency, 
and  always  knew  it  must  end  so.  The  case  is  told,  is  canvassed,  is 
exaggerated  as  such  cases  will  be.  I  daresay  it  forms  a  week's 
talk.  But  people  know  that  poor  Philip  is  his  father's  largest 
creditor,  and  eye  the  young  man  with  no  unfriendly  looks  when  he 
comes  to  his  club  after  his  mishap, — with  burning  clieeks,  and  a 
tingling  sense  of  shame,  imagining  that  all  the  world  will  point  at 
and  avoid  him  as  the  guilty  fugitive's  son. 

No  :  the  world  takes  verv  little  heed  of  his  misfortune.     One 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     267 

or  two  old  acquaintances  are  kinder  to  him  than  before.  A  few  say 
his  ruin,  and  his  ol)li<,'ation  to  worlc,  will  do  him  good.  Only  a  very 
very  few  avoid  him,  and  look  unconscious  as  he  passes  them  by. 
Amongst  these  cold  countenances,  you,  of  course,  will  recognise  the 
faces  of  the  whole  Twysden  family.  Three  statues,  with  marble 
eyes,  could  not  look  more  stony-calm  than  Aunt  Twysden  and  her 
two  daughters,  as  they  pass  in  the  stately  barouche.  The  gentlemen 
turn  red  when  they  see  Philip.  It  is  rather  late  times  for  Uncle 
Twysden  to  begin  blushing,  to  be  sure.  "  Hang  the  fellow  !  he 
will,  of  course,  be  coming  for  money.  Dawkins,  I  am  not  at 
home,  mind,  when  young  Mr.  Firmin  calls."  So  says  Lord  Ring- 
wood,  regarding  Philip  fallen  among  thieves.  Ah,  thanks  to 
Heaven,  travellers  find  Samaritans  as  well  as  Levites  on  life's  hard 
way !  Philip  told  us  with  much  humour  of  a  rencontre  which  he 
had  had  with  his  cousin,  Ringwood  Twysden,  in  a  public  place. 
Twysden  was  enjoying  himself  with  some  young  clerks  of  his  office ; 
but  as  Philip  advanced  upon  him,  assuming  his  fiercest  scowl  and 
most  hectoring  manner,  the  other  lost  heart,  and  fled.  And  no 
wonder.  "Do  you  suppose,"  says  Twysden,  "I  will  willingly  sit 
in  the  same  room  with  that  cad,  after  the  manner  in  which  he  has 
treated  my  family  1  No,  sir  !  "  And  so  the  tall  door  in  Beaunash 
Street  is  to  open  for  Philip  Firmin  no  more. 

The  tall  door  in  Beaunash  Street  flies  open  readily  enough  for 
another  gentleman.  A  splendid  cab-horse  reins  up  before  it  every 
day.  A  pair  of  varnished  boots  leap  out  of  the  cab,  and  spring  up 
the  broad  stairs,  where  somebody  is  waiting  with  a  smile  of  genteel 
welcome — the  same  smile — on  the  same  sofa — the  same  mamma 
at  her  table  writing  her  letters.  And  beautiful  bouquets  from 
Covent  Garden  decorate  the  room.  And  after  half-an-hour  mamma 
goes  out  to  speak  to  the  housekeeper,  vous  comprenez.  And  there 
is  nothing  particularly  new  under  the  sun.  It  will  shine  to-morrow 
upon  pretty  much  the  same  flowers,  sports,  pastimes,  &c.,  which  it 
illuminated  yesterday.  And  when  your  love-making  days  are  over, 
miss,  and  you  are  married,  and  advantageously  establisiied,  shall 
not  your  little  sisters,  now  in  the  nursery,  trot  down  and  play 
tiieir  little  games'?  Would  you,  on  your  conscien(!e,  now — you 
who  are  rather  inclined  to  consider  Miss  Agnes  Twysden's  conduct 
as  heartless — would  you,  I  say,  have  her  cry  her  pretty  eyes  out 
about  a  young  man  who  does  not  care  much  for  her,  for  whom  she 
never  did  care  nuich  herself,  and  who  is  now,  moreover,  a  beggar, 
with  a  ruined  and  disgraced  father  and  a  doulitfid  legitimacy? 
Absurd  !  That  dear  girl  is  like  a  beautiful  fragrant  bower-room 
at  the  Star  and  Garter  at  Richniond,  with  honeysuckles  mayhap 
trailing  round  the  windows,  from  which  you  behold  one  of  the  most 


268  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

lovely  and  pleasant  of  wood  and  river  scenes.  Tlie  tables  are 
decorated  with  flowers,  rich  wine-cups  sparkle  on  the  board,  and 
Captain  Jones's  party  have  everything  they  can  desire.  Their 
dinner  over,  and  that  company  gone,  the  same  waiters,  the  same 
flowers,  the  same  cups  and  crystals,  array  themselves  for  Mr. 
Brown  and  his  party.  Or,  if  you  won't  have  Agnes  Twysden 
compared  to  the  Star  and  Garter  Tavern,  which  must  admit  mixed 
company,  liken  her  to  the  chaste  moon,  who  shines  on  shepherds 
of  all  complexions,  swarthy  or  fair. 

When  oppressed  by  superior  odds  a  commander  is  forced  to 
retreat,  we  like  him  to  show  his  skill  by  carrying  off  his  guns, 
treasure,  and  camp  equipages.  Dr.  Firmin,  beaten  by  fortune  and 
compelled  to  fly,  showed  quite  a  splendid  skill  and  coolness  in  his 
manner  of  decamping,  and  left  the  very  smallest  amount  of  spoils 
in  the  hands  of  the  victorious  enemy.  His  wines  had  been  famous 
amongst  the  grave  epicures  with  whom  he  dined  :  he  used  to  boast, 
like  a  worthy  bon  vivant  who  knows  the  value  of  wine-conversation 
after  dinner,  of  the  quantities  which  he  possessed,  and  the  rare 
bins  which  he  had  in  store ;  but  when  the  executioners  came  to 
arrange  his  sale,  there  was  found  only  a  beggarly  account  of  empty 
bottles,  and  I  fear  some  of  the  unprincipled  creditors  put  in  a  great 
quantity  of  bad  liquor  which  they  endeavoured  to  foist  oft'  on  the 
public  as  the  genuine  and  carefully  selected  stock  of  a  well-known 
connoisseur.  News  of  tliis  dishonest  proceeding  reached  Dr.  Firmin 
presently  in  his  retreat ;  and  he  showed  by  his  letter  a  generous 
and  manly  iudigiiatiou  at  the  manner  in  which  his  creditors  had 
tampered  with  his  honest  name  and  reputation  as  a  bon  vivant. 
He  have  bad  wine  !  For  shame  !  He  had  the  best  from  the  best 
wine  merchant,  and  paid,  or  rather  owed,  the  best  prices  for  it ; 
for  of  late  years  the  Doctor  had  paid  no  bills  at  all :  and  the  wiue 
merchant  appeared  in  quite  a  handsome  group  of  figures  in  his 
schedule.  In  like  manner  his  books  were  pawned  to  a  book 
auctioneer ;  and  Brice,  the  butler,  had  a  bill  of  sale  for  the  furni- 
ture. Firmin  retreated,  we  will  not  say  with  the  honours  of  war, 
but  as  little  liarmed  as  possible  by  defeat.  Did  the  enemy  want 
the  plumler  of  his  city  1  He  had  smuggled  almost  all  his  valuable 
goods  over  tiie  wall.  Did  tliey  desire  his  ships  ?  He  had  sunk 
them  :  and  when  at  length  the  conquerors  poured  into  his  strong- 
hold, he  was  far  beyond  the  reach  of  their  shot.  Don't  we  often 
hear  still  that  Nana  Sahib  is  alive  and  exceedingly  comfortable  1 
We  do  not  love  him  :  but  we  can't  help  having  a  kind  of  admira- 
tion for  that  slippery  fugitive  who  has  escaped  from  the  dreadful 
jaws  of  the  lion.  In  a  word,  wlien  Firmin's  furniture  came  to  be 
sold,  it  was  a  marvel  how  little  his  creditors  benefited  by  the  sale. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     269 

Contemptuous  brokers  declared  there  never  was  such  a  shabby  lot 
of  goods.  A  friend  of  the  house  and  poor  Philip  bought  in  his 
mother's  picture  for  a  few  guineas ;  and  as  for  the  Doctor's  own 
state  portrait,  I  am  afraid  it  went  for  a  few  shillings  onlj-,  and  in 
the  midst  of  a  roar  of  Hebrew  laughter.  I  saAv  in  Wardour  Street, 
not  long  after,  the  Doctor's  sideboard,  and  what  dealers  cheerfully 
call  the  sarcophagus  cellaret.  Poor  Doctor !  his  wine  was  all 
drunken  ;  his  me^at  was  eaten  up ;  but  his  own  body  had  slipped 
out  of  the  reach  of  the  hook-beaked  birds  of  prey. 

We  had  spoken  rapidly  in  undertones,  innocently  believing  that 
the  young  people  round  about  us  were  taking  no  heed  of  our  talk. 
But  in  a  lull  of  the  conversation,  Mr.  Pendennis  junior,  who  had 
always  been  a  friend  to  Philip,  broke  out  with — "Philip!  if  you 
are  so  very  poor,  you'll  be  hungry,  you  know,  and  you  may  have 
my  piece  of  bread  and  jam.  And  I  don't  want  it,  mamma,"  he 
added ;  "  and  you  know  Philip  has  often  and  often  given  me 
things." 

Philip   stooped   down   and   kissed   this   good   little    Samaritan. 
"  I'm  not  hungry,  Arty  my  boy,"  he  said ;   "  and  I'm  not  so  poor 
but  I  have  got — look  here — a  fine  new  shilling  for  Arty  ! '' 
"  Oh,  Pliilip,  Philip  !  "  cried  mamma. 
"Don't  take  the  money,  Arthur,"  cried  papa. 
And  tlie  boy,  with  a  rueful  face  but  a  manly  heart,  prepared 
to  give  back  the  coin.      "  It's  quite  a  new  one ;   and  it's  a  very 
pretty  one :  but  I  won't  have  it,  Philip,  thank  you,"  he  said,  turn- 
ing very  red. 

"  If  he  won't,  I  vow  I  will  give  it  to  the  cabman,"  said 
Philip. 

"  Keeping  a  cab  all  this  while  1  Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  "  again 
cries  mamma  the  economist. 

"Loss  of  time  is  loss  of  money,  my  dear  lady,"  says  Philip, 
very  gravely.  "  I  have  ever  so  many  places  to  go  to.  Wlien  I  am 
set  in  for  being  ruined,  you  shall  see  what  a  screw  I  will  become  ! 
I  must  go  to  ]\Irs.  Brandon,  who  will  be  very  uneasy,  poor  dear, 
until  she  knows  the  worst." 

"  Oh,  Philip,  I  should  like  so  to  go  with  you  !  "  cries  Laura. 
"  Pray,  give  her  our  very  best  regards  and  respects." 

"  Merci  !  "  said  the  young  man,  and  squeezed  Mrs.  Pendennis's 
hand  in  his  own  big  one.  "  I  will  take  your  message  to  her. 
Laura,     .faime  qvHon  Valine,  savez-vous  ?  " 

"  That  means,  I  love  those  who  love  her,"  cries  little  Laura  ; 
"  but,  I  don't  know,"  remarked  this  little  person  afterwards  to  her 
l)aternal  confidant,  "  that  I  like  all  people  to  love  my  mamma. 
That  is,  I  don't  like  her  to  like  tlieni,  papa — only  you  may,  papa, 


270  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  Ethel  may,  and  Arthur  may,  and,  I  think,  Philip  may,  now  he 
is  poor  and  quite  quite  alone — and  we  will  take  care  of  him,  won't 
we  1  And,  I  think,  I'll  buy  him  something  with  my  money  which 
Aunt  Ethel  gave  me." 

"And  I'll  give  him  my  money,"  cries  a  boy. 

"  And  I'll  div  him  my — my "     Psha  !  what  matters  what 

the  little  sweet  lips  prattled  in  their  artless  kindness?  But  the 
soft  words  of  love  and  pity  smote  the  mother's  heart  with  an 
exquisite  pang  of  gratitude  and  joy ;  and  I  know  where  her 
thanks  were  paid  for  those  tender  words  and  thoughts  of  her 
little  ones. 

Mrs.  Pendennis  made  Philip  promise  to  come  to  dinner,  and 
also  to  remember  not  to  take  a  cab — which  promise  Mr.  Firmin 
had  not  much  difficulty  in  executing,  for  he  had  but  a  few  hundred 
yards  to  walk  across  the  Park  from  his  club ;  and  I  must  say  that 
my  wife  took  a  special  care  of  our  dinner  that  day,  preparing  for 
Philip  certain  dishes  which  she  knew  he  liked,  and  enjoining  the 
butler  of  the  establishment  (who  also  happened  to  be  the  owner  of 
the  house)  to  fetch  from  his  cellar  the  very  choicest  wine  in  his 
possession. 

I  have  previously  described  our  friend  and  his  boisterous,  im- 
petuous, generous  nature.  When  Philip  was  moved,  he  called  to 
all  the  world  to  witness  his  emotion.  When  he  was  angry,  his 
enemies  were  all  the  rogues  and  scoundrels  in  the  world.  He 
vowed  he  would  have  no  mercy  on  them,  and  desired  all  his 
acquaintances  to  participate  in  his  anger.  How  could  such  an  open- 
mouthed  son  have  had  such  a  close-spoken  father?  I  daresay  you 
have  seen  very  well-bred  young  people,  tlie  children  of  vulgar  and 
ill-bred  parents  ;  the  swaggering  father  have  a  silent  son ;  the  loud 
mother  a  modest  daughter.  Our  friend  is  not  Amadis  or  Sir 
Charles  Grandison ;  and  I  don't  set  him  up  for  a  moment  as  a 
person  to  be  revered  or  imitated  ;  but  try  to  draw  him  faitlifully, 
and  as  nature  made  him.  As  nature  made  him,  so  he  was.  I 
don't  think  he  tried  to  improve  himself  much.  Perhaps  few  people 
do.  They  suppose  they  do :  and  you  read,  in  apologetic  memoirs, 
and  fond  biographies,  how  this  man  cured  his  bad  temper,  and 
t'other  worked  and  strove  until  he  gi'ew  to  be  almost  faultless. 
Very  well  and  good,  my  good  people.  You  can  learn  a  language  ; 
you  can  master  a  science ;  I  have  heard  of  an  old  square-toes  of 
sixty  who  learned,  by  study  and  intense  application,  very  satis- 
factorily to  dance ;  but  can  you,  by  taking  thought,  add  to  your 
moral  stature  1  Ah  me !  the  Doctor  who  preaches  is  only  taller 
than  most  of  us  by  the  height  of  the  pulpit :  and  when  he  steps 
down,  I  daresay  he  cringes  to  the  duchess,  growls  at  his  children, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     271 

scolds  his  Avife  about  the  dinner.  All  is  vanity,  look  you  :  and  so 
the  preacher  is  vanity,  too. 

Well,  tlien,  I  must  again  say  tliat  Philip  roared  his  griefs  :  he 
shouted  Ills  laughter  :  he  bellowed  his  ai)itlause  :  hd  was  extravagant 
in  his  humility  as  in  his  pride,  in  his  admiration  of  his  friends  and 
contempt  for  his  enemies :  I  daresay  not  a  just  man,  but  I  have 
met  juster  men  not  half  so  honest ;  and  certainly  not  a  faultless 
man,  though  I  know  better  men  not  near  so  good.  So,  I  believe, 
my  wife  thinks ;  else  why  should  she  be  so  fond  of  him  1  Did  we 
not  know  boys  wdio  never  went  out  of  bounds,  and  never  were  late 
for  school,  and  never  made  a  false  concord  or  quantity,  and  never 
came  under  the  ferule  ;  and  others  who  were  alw^ays  playing  truant, 
and  blundering,  and  being  whipped  ;  and  yet,  somehow,  was  not 
Master  Naughtyboy  better  liked  than  Master  Goodchild  1  When 
Master  Naughtyboy  came  to  dine  with  us  on  the  first  day  of  his 
ruin,  he  bore  a  face  of  radiant  happiness — he  laughed,  he  bounced 
about,  he  caressed  the  children ;  now  he  took  a  couple  on  his 
knees;  now  he  tossed  the  baby  to  the  ceiling;  now  he  sprawled 
over  a  sofa,  and  now"  he  rode  upon  a  chair;  never  was, a  penniless 
gentleman  more  cheerful.  As  for  his  dinner,  Phil's  appetite  was 
always  fine,  but  on  this  day  an  ogre  could  scarcely  play  a  more 
terrible  knife  and  fork.  He  asked  for  more  and  more,  until  his 
entertainers  wondered  to  behold  him.  "Dine  for  to-day  and  to- 
morrow too ;  can't  expect  such  fare  as  this  every  day,  you  know. 
This  claret,  how  good  it  is !  May  I  pack  some  up  in  paper,  and 
take  it  home  with  me  1 "  The  cliildren  roared  with  laughter  at  this 
admira])le  itlea  of  carrying  home  wine  in  a  sheet  of  paper.  I  don't 
know  that  it  is  always  at  the  best  jokes  that  children  laugh  : — 
children  and  wise  men  too. 

When  we  three  were  by  ourselves,  and  freed  from  the  company 
of  servants  and  children,  our  friend  told  us  the  cause  of  his  gaiety. 
"  By  George  ! "  he  swore,  "  it  is  worth  being  ruined  to  find  sucli 
good  people  in  the  w^orld.  My  dear  kind  Laura" — here  the  gentle- 
man brushes  his  eyes  with  his  fist — "  it  was  as  much  as  I  could  do 
this  morning  to  prevent  myself  from  hugging  you  in  my  arms,  you 
were  so  generous,  and — and  so  kind,  and  so  tender,  and  so  good,  by 
George  !     And  after  leaving  you,  wdiere  do  you  think  I  went?" 

"  I  think  I  can  guess,  Philip,"  says  Laura. 

"  Well,"  says  Philip,  winking  liis  eyes  again,  and  tossing  off  a 
great  bumper  of  wine.  "I  went  to  her,, of  course.  I  think  she  is 
the  best  friend  I  have  in  the  world.  The  old  man  was  out,  and  I 
told  her  about  everything  that  had  hapi)eued.  And  what  do  you 
think  slie  has  done  1  She  says  she  has  been  expecting  me — she 
has;  and  she  has  gone  and  fitted  u{)  a  room  with  a  nice  little  bed 


272  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

at  the  top  of  the  house,  with  everything  as  neat  and  trim  as 
possible ;  and  she  begged  and  prayed  I  would  go  and  stay  with  her 
— and  I  said  I  would,  to  please  her.  And  then  she  takes  me  down 
to  her  room  ;  and  she  jumps  up  to  a  cupboard,  which  she  unlocks  ; 
and  she  opens  and  takes  three-and-twenty  pounds  out  of  a — out  of 
a  tea — out  of  a  tea-caddy — confound  me  ! — and  she  says,  '  Here, 
Philip,'  she  says,  and — Boo  !  what  a  fool  I  am  ! "  and  here  the 
orator  fairly  broke  down  in  his  speech. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

IN   JFHICH  PHILIP  SIIOIIS  HIS  METTLE 

WHEN  the  poor  Little  Sister  proffered  lier  mite,  her  all,  to 
Philii),  I  daresay  some  sentimental  passages  occurred 
between  them  which  are  much  too  trivial  to  be  narrated. 
No  doubt  her  pleasure  would  have  been  at  that  moment  to  give 
him  not  only  that  gold  which  she  had  been  saving  up  against  rent- 
day,  but  tlie  spoons,  the  furniture,  and  all  the  valuables  of  tlie 
house,  including  perliaps  J.  J.'s  bric-k-brac,  cabinets,  china,  and  so 
forth.  To  perform  a  kindness,  an  act  of  self-sacrifice ; — are  not 
these  the  most  delicious  privileges  of  female  tenderness'?  Philip 
checked  his  little  friend's  enthusiasm.  He  showed  her  a  purse  full 
of  money,  at  which  sight  the  poor  little  soul  was  rather  disappointed. 
He  magnified  the  value  of  his  horses,  which,  according  to  Philip's 
calculation,  were  to  bring  him  at  least  two  hundred  pounds  more 
than  the  stock  which  he  had  already  in  hand ;  and  the  master 
of  such  a  sum  as  this,  she  was  forced  to  confess,  had  no  need  to 
despair.  Indeed,  she  had  never  in  her  life  possessed  the  half  of  it. 
Her  kind  dear  little  offer  of  a  home  in  her  house  he  would  accept 
sometimes,  and  with  gratitude.  Well,  there  was  a  little  consolation 
in  that.  In  a  moment  that  active  little  housekeeper  saw  the  room 
ready ;  flowers  on  the  manteli)iece ;  his  looking-glass,  which  her 
father  could  do  quite  well  witli  tlie  little  one,  as  he  was  always 
shaved  by  the  barber  now  ;  the  quilted  counterpane,  which  she  had 
herself  made  : — I  know  not  what  more  improvements  she  devised  ; 
and  I  fear  that  at  the  idea  of  having  Philip  with  her,  this  little 
thing  was  as  extravagantly  and  unreasonably  happy  as  we  have  just 
now  seen  Philip  to  be.  What  was  that  last  dish  which  Partus  and 
Arria  shared  in  common?  I  have  lost  my  Lempriere's  Dictionary 
(that  treasury  of  my  youth),  and  forget  whether  it  was  a  cold 
dagger  an  naturel  or  a  dish  of  hot  coals  a  la  Roviaine,  of  wliich 
they  partook  ;  but,  wliatever  it  was,  slie  smiled,  and  delightedly 
received  it,  happy  to  share  the  beloved  one's  fortune. 

Yes:  Pliilip  would  come  home  to  his  Little  Sister  sometimes: 
sometimes  of  a  Saturday,  and  they  would  go  to  church  on  Sunday, 
as  he  used  to  do  when  he  was  a  boy  at  school.      "  But  then,  you 


274  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

know,"  says  Phil,  "  law  is  law  ;  study  is  study.  I  must  devote  my 
whole  energies  to  my  work — get  up  very  early." 

"  Don't  tire  your  eyes,  my  dear,"  interposes  Mr.  Philip's  soft 
judicious  friend. 

"  There  must  be  no  trifling  with  work,"  says  Philip,  with  awful 
gravity.  "  There's  Benton  the  Judge  :  Benton  and  Burbage,  you 
know." 

"  Oh,  Benton  and  Burbage ! "  whispers  the  Little  Sister,  not  a 
little  bewildered. 

"How  do  you  suppose  he  became  a  judge  before  forty  ] " 

"  Before  forty  who  1     Law  bless  me  !  " 

"  Before  he  was  forty,  Mrs.  Carry.  When  he  came  to  work, 
he  had  his  own  way  to  make :  just  like  me.  He  had  a  small 
allowance  from  his  father :  that's  not  like  me.  He  took  chambers 
in  the  Temi^le.  He  went  to  a  pleader's  office.  He  read  fourteen, 
fifteen  hours  every  day.  He  dined  on  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  mutton 
chop." 

"  La,  bless  me,  child  !  I  wouldn't  have  you  to  do  that,  not 
to  be  Lord  Chamberlain — Chancellor  what's  his  name  1  Destroy 
your  youth  witli  reading,  and  your  eyes,  and  go  without  your 
dinner  1  You're  not  used  to  that  sort  of  thing,  dear ;  and  it  would 
kill  you ! " 

Philip  smoothed  his  fair  hair  oflF  his  ample  forehead,  and  nodded 
his  head,  smiling  sweetly.  I  think  his  inward  monitor  hinted  to 
him  that  there  was  not  much  danger  of  his  killing  himself  by 
overwork.  "  To  succeed  at  the  law,  as  in  all  other  professions,"  he 
continued,  with  much  gravity,  "  requires  the  greatest  perseverance, 
and  industry,  and  talent ;  and  then,  perhaps,  you  don't  succeed. 
Many  have  failed  who  have  had  all  these  qualities." 

"  But  they  haven't  talents  like  my  Philip,  I  know  they  haven't. 
And  I  had  to  stand  ui)  in  a  court  once,  and  was  cross-examined  by 
a  vulgar  man  before  a  hori'id  deaf  old  judge ;  and  I'm  sure  if  your 
lawyers  are  like  them  I  don't  wish  you  to  succeed  at  all.  And 
now,  look !  there's  a  nice  loin  of  pork  coming  up.  Pa  loves  roast 
pork  ;  and  you  must  come  and  have  some  with  us ;  and  every  day 
and  all  days,  my  dear,  I  should  like  to  see  you  seated  there."  And 
the  Little  Sister  frisked  about  hei-e,  and  bustled  there,  and  brought 
a  cunning  bottle  of  wine  from  some  corner,  and  made  the  boy 
welcome.  So  tliat,  you  see,  far  from  starving,  he  actually  had  two 
dinners  on  that  first  day  of  his  ruin. 

Caroline  consented  to  a  compromise  regarding  the  money,  on 
Philip's  solemn  vow  and  promise  that  she  should  be  his  banker 
whenever  necessity  called.  She  rather  desired  his  poverty  for  the 
sake  of  its  precious  reward.     She  hid  away  a  little  bag  of  gold  for 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     275 

her  darling's  use  wlienever  he  should  need  it.  I  daresay  she 
pinched  and  had  shabby  dinners  at  home,  so  as  to  save  yet  more, 
and  so  caused  the  Captain  to  grumble.  Why,  for  that  boy's  sake, 
I  believe  she  would  have  been  capable  of  shaving  her  lodgers'  legs 
of  mutton,  and  levying  a  tax  on  their  tea-caddies  and  baker's  stuff. 
If  you  don't  like  un})rinci])led  atturhments  of  this  sort,  and  only 
desire  that  your  womankind  should  love  you  for  yourself,  and  accord- 
ing to  your  deserts,  I  am  your  very  humble  servant.  Hereditary 
bondswomen  !  you  know,  that  were  you  free,  and  did  you  strike 
the  blow,  my  dears,  you  were  unhappy  for  your  pain,  and  eagerly 
would  claim  your  bonds  again.  What  poet  has  uttered  that  senti- 
ment ]  It  is  perfectly  true,  aud  I  know  will  receive  the  cordial 
ai)probation  of  the  dear  ladies. 

Philip  has  decreed  in  his  own  mind  that  he  will  go  and  live  in 
those  chambers  in  the  Temple  where  we  have  met  him.  Van  John, 
the  sporting  gentleman,  had  determined  for  special  reasons  to  with- 
draw from  law  and  sport  in  this  country,  and  Mr.  Firmin  took 
possession  of  his  vacant  slee]>ing-chainber.  To  furnish  a  bachelor's 
bedroom  need  not  be  a  matter  of  nuich  cost ;  but  Mr.  Philip  was 
too  good-natured  a  fellow  to  haggle  about  the  valuation  of  Van 
John's  bedsteads  and  chests  of  drawers,  and  generously  took  them 
at  twice  their  value.  He  aud  Mr.  Cassidy  now  divided  the  rooms 
in  equal  reign.  Ah,  happy  rooms,  bright  rooms,  rooms  near  the 
sky,  to  remember  you  is  to  be  young  again  !  for  I  would  have  you 
to  know  that  when  Philip  went  to  take  possession  of  his  share  of 
the  fourth  floor  in  the  Temple,  his  biograjtlior  was  still  compara- 
tively juvenile,  and  in  one  or  two  very  old-fashioned  families  was 
called  "  young  Pendennis." 

So  Philip  Firmin  dwelt  in  a  garret  ;  and  the  fourth  part  of  a 
laundress  and  the  half  of  a  boy  now  formed  the  domestic  establish- 
ment of  him  who  had  been  attended  by  housekeepers,  butlers,  and 
obsc(juious  liveried  menials.  To  be  freed  from  that  ceremonial  and 
cticjuette  of  plush  and  worsted  lace  was  an  immense  relief  to  Firmin. 
His  pipe  need  not  lurk  in  crypts  or  back  closets  now  :  its  fragrance 
breathed  over  the  whole  chambers,  and  rose  up  to  the  sky,  tlieir 
near  neighbour. 

The  first  month  or  two  after  being  ruined,  Philip  vowed,  was 
an  uncommonly  pleasant  time.  He  had  still  plenty  of  money  in 
his  pocket ;  and  the  sense  that,  perhaps,  it  was  imprudent  to  take 
a  cab  or  drink  a  bottle  of  wine,  added  a  zest  to  those  enjoyments 
which  they  by  no  means  ])ossessed  when  they  were  easy  and  of 
daily  occurrence.  I  am  not  certain  that  a  dinner  of  beef  and  i)orter 
did  not  amuse  our  young  man  almost  as  well  as  bamiuets  much 
more  costly  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed.     He  laughed  at  the 


276  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

pretensions  of  his  boyish  days,  when  he  and  other  solemn  young 
epicures  used  to  sit  down  to  elaborate  tavern  banquets,  and  pretend 
to  criticise  vintages,  and  sauces,  and  turtle.  As  yet  there  was  not 
only  content  with  his  dinner,  but  plenty  therewith ;  and  I  do  not 
Avish  to  alarm  you  by  supposing  that  Philip  will  ever  have  to 
encounter  any  dreadful  extremities  of  poverty  or  hunger  in  the 
course  of  his  history.  The  wine  in  the  jug  was  very  low  at  times, 
but  it  never  was  quite  empty.  This  lamb  was  shorn,  but  the  wind 
was  tempered  to  him. 

So  Philip  took  2)ossession  of  his  rooms  in  the  Temple,  and  began 
actually  to  reside  there  just  as  the  long  vacation  commenced,  which 
he  intended  to  devote  to  a  course  of  serious  study  of  the  law  and 
private  preparation,  before  he  should  venture  on  the  great  business 
of  circuits  and  the  bar.  Nothing  is  more  necessary  for  desk-men 
than  exercise,  so  Philip  took  a  good  deal ;  especially  on  the  water, 
where  he  pulled  a  famous  oar.  Nothing  is  more  natural  after 
exercise  than  refreshment ;  and  Mr.  Firmin,  now  he  was  too 
poor  for  claret,  showed  a  great  capacity  for  beer.  After  beer  and 
bodily  labour,  rest,  of  course,  is  necessary ;  and  Firmin  slept  nine 
hours,  and  looked  as  rosy  as  a  girl  in  her  first  season.  Then  such 
a  man,  with  such  a  frame  and  health,  must  have  a  good  appetite 
for  breakfast.  And  then  every  man  who  wishes  to  succeed  at  the 
bar,  in  the  senate,  on  the  bench,  in  the  House  of  Peers,  on  the 
Woolsack,  must  know  the  quotidian  history  of  his  country ;  so,  of 
course,  Philip  read  the  newspaper.  Thus,  you  see,  his  hours  of 
study  were  perforce  curtailed  by  the  necessary  duties  which  dis- 
tracted him  from  his  labours. 

It  has  been  said  that  Mr.  Firmin's  companion  in  chambers, 
Mr.  Cassidy,  was  a  native  of  the  neighbouring  kingdom  of  Ireland, 
and  engaged  in  literary  pursuits  in  this  country.  A  merry,  shrewd, 
silent,  observant  little  man,  he,  unlike  some  of  his  compatriots, 
always  knew  how  to  make  both  ends  meet ;  feared  no  man  alive 
in  the  character  of  a  dun ;  and  out  of  small  earnings  managed  to 
transmit  no  small  comforts  and  subsidies  to  old  parents  living 
somewhere  in  Munster.  Of  Cassidy's  friends  was  Finucane,  now 
editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  he  married  the  widow  of  the 
late  eccentric  and  gifted  Captain  Shandon,  and  Cass  himself  was 
the  fashionable  correspondent  of  the  Gazette,  chronicling  the 
marriages,  deaths,  births,  dinner-parties  of  the  nobility.  These 
Irish  gentlemen  knew  otiier  Irish  gentlemen,  connected  with 
other  newspapers,  who  formed  a  little  literary  society.  They 
assembled  at  each  other's  rooms,  and  at  haunts  where  social 
pleasure  was  to  be  purchased  at  no  dear  rate.  Philip  Firmin 
was  known  to  many  of  them  before  his  misfortunes  occurred,  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     277 

when  there  was  gold  in  plenty  in  his  pocket,  and  never-failing 
applause  for  his  songs 

When  Pendennis  and  his  friends  wrote  in  this  newspaper,  it  was 
impertinent  enough,  and  many  men  must  have  heard  the  writers 
laugh  at  the  airs  which  they  occasionally  thought  proper  to  assume. 
The  tone  which  they  took  amused,  annoyed,  tickled,  was  popular. 
It  was  continued,  and,  of  course,  caricatured  by  their  successors. 
They  worked  for  very  moderate  fees :  but  paid  themselves  by  im- 
pertinence, and  the  satisfaction  of  assailing  their  betters.  Three 
or  four  persons  were  reserved  from  their  abuse  ;  but  somebody  was 
siu-e  every  week  to  be  tied  up  at  their  post,  and  the  public  made 
sport  of  the  victim's  contortions.  The  writers  were  obscure 
barristers,  ushers,  and  college  men,  but  they  had  omniscience  at 
their  pen's  end,  and  were  ready  to  lay  down  the  law  on  any  given 
sul)ject — to  teach  any  man  his  business,  were  it  a  bisliop  in  his 
pulpit,  a  Minister  in  his  place  in  the  House,  a  captain  on  his 
(}uarter-deck,  a  tailor  on  his  shopboard,  or  a  jockey  in  his  saddle. 

Since  those  early  days  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  when  old 
Shandon  wielded  his  truculent  tomahawk,  and  Messrs.  W-rr-ngt-u 
and  P-nd-nn-s  followed  him  in  the  war-path,  the  Gazette  had 
passed  through  several  hands ;  and  the  victims  who  were  immolated 
by  the  editors  of  to-day  were  very  likely  the  objects  of  the  best 
puffery  of  the  last  dynasty.  To  be  tlogged  in  what  was  your  own 
schoolroom — that,  surely,  is  a  queer  sensation ;  and  when  my 
report  was  published  on  the  decay  of  the  sealing-wax  trade  in  the 
three  kingdoms  (owing  to  the  prevalence  of  gummed  envelopes, — 
as  you  may  see  in  that  masterly  document)  I  was  horsed  up  and 
smartly  whipped  in  the  Gazette  by  some  of  the  rods  which  liad 
come  out  of  pickle  since  my  time.  Was  not  good  Dr.  Guillotin 
executed  by  his  own  neat  invention  1  I  dnn't  know  who  was  the 
Monsieur  Sanson  who  operated  on  me ;  but  have  always  had  my 
idea  that  Digges,  of  Corpus,  was  the  man  to  whom  my  flagellation 
was  entrusted.  His  father  keeps  a  ladies'  school  at  Hackney ;  but 
there  is  an  air  of  fashion  in  everything  which  Digges  writes,  and 
a  (•hivalrous  conservatism  which  makes  me  i)retty  certain  that  D. 
was  my  scarifier.  All  this,  however,  is  naught.  Let  us  turn  away 
from  the  author's  i)rivate  griefs  and  egotisms  to  those  of  tlic  liero 
of  the  story. 

Does  any  one  remember  the  appearance  some  twenty  years 
ago  of  a  little  book  called  "  Trumi)et  Calls" — a  book  of  songs  and 
poetry,  dedicated  to  his  l)rothcr  orticers  by  Cornet  Canterton  ]  His 
trumpet  was  very  tolerably  melodious,  and  the  cornet  i)layed  some 
small  airs  on  it  with  some  little  grace  and  skill.  T.iit  this  poor 
Canterton  belonged  to  the  Life  Guards  Green,  and  Philip  Firmin 


278  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

would  have  liked  to  have  the  lives  of  one  or  two  troops  at  least 
of  that  corps.  Entering  into  Mx-.  Cassidy's  room,  Philip  found  the 
little  volume.  He  set  to  work  to  exterminate  Canterton.  He 
rode  him  down,  trampled  over  his  face  and  carcase,  knocked  the 
"  Trumpet  Calls  "  and  all  the  teeth  down  the  trumpeter's  throat. 
Never  was  such  a  smashing  article  as  he  wrote.  And  Mugford,  Mr. 
Cassidy's  chief  and  owner,  who  likes  always  to  have  at  least  one 
man  served  up  and  hashed  small  in  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette,  happened 
at  this  very  juncture  to  have  no  other  victim  ready  in  his  larder. 
Philip's  review  a])peared  there  in  print.  He  ruslied  off  with 
immense  glee  to  Westminster,  to  show  us  his  performance.  Nothing 
must  content  him  but  to  give  a  dinner  at  Greenwich  on  his  success. 
Oh,  Philip  !  We  wished  that  this  had  not  been  his  first  fee ;  and 
that  sober  law  had  given  it  to  him,  and  not  the  graceless  and  fickle 
muse  with  whom  he  had  been  flirting.  For,  truth  to  say,  certain 
wise  old  heads  which  wagged  over  his  performance  could  see  but  little 
merit  in  it.  His  style  was  coarse,  his  wit  clumsy  and  savage.  Never 
mind  characterising  either  now.  He  has  seen  the  error  of  his  ways, 
and  divorced  with  the  muse  whom  he  never  ought  to  have  wooed. 

The  shrewd  Cassidy  not  only  could  not  write  himself,  but  knew 
he  could  not — or,  at  least,  pen  more  than  a  plain  paragraph,  or  a 
brief  sentence  to  the  point,  but  said  he  would  carry  this  paper  to 
his  chief.  "  His  Excellency "  was  the  nickname  by  which  this 
chief  was  called  by  his  familiars.  Mugford — Frederick  Mugford 
was  his  real  name — -and  putting  out  of  sight  that  little  defect  in  his 
character,  that  he  committed  a  systematic  literary  murder  once  a 
week,  a  more  wortliy  good-natured  little  murderer  did  not  live.  He 
came  of  the  old  school  of  the  press.  Like  French  marshals,  he  had 
risen  from  the  ranks,  and  retained  some  of  the  manners  and  oddities 
of  the  private  soldier.  A  new  mce  of  writers  had  gi-owu  up  since 
he  enlisteii  as  a  printer's  boy — -men  of  the  world,  with  the  manners 
of  other  gentlemen.  Mugford  never  professed  the  least  gentility. 
He  knew  that  his  young  men  laughed  at  his  peculiarities,  and  did 
not  care  a  fig  for  their  scorn.  As  tlie  knife  with  whicii  he  conveyed 
his  victuals  to  his  mouth  went  down  his  throat  at  the  plenteous 
banquets  which  he  gave,  he  saw  his  young  friends  wince  and 
wonder,  and  rather  relished  their  surprise.  Tliose  lips  never  cared 
in  the  least  about  placing  liis  A's  in  right  places.  They  used  bad 
language  with  great  freedom — (to  hear  him  bullying  a  printing-office 
was  a  wonder  of  eloquence) — but  they  betrayed  no  secrets,  and  the 
words  which  they  uttered  you  might  trust.  He  had  belonged  to 
two  or  three  parties,  and  had  respected  them  all.  When  he  went 
to  the  Under-tSecretary's  office  he  was  never  kept  waiting ;  and 
once  or  twice  Mrs.   Mugford,  who  governed  him,  ordered  him  to 


ON    HIS    WAY   THROUGH    THE    WORLD     279 

attend  the  Saturday  reception  of  the  Ministers'  ladies,  where  he 
might  be  seen,  with  dirty  hands,  it  is  true,  but  a  richly  embroidered 
waistcoat  and  foncy  satin  tie.  His  heart,  however,  was  not  in 
these  entertainments.  I  have  heard  him  say  that  he  only  came 
because  ]\Irs.  M.  would  have  it;  and  he  frankly  owned  that  he 
"  would  rather  'ave  a  pipe,  and  a  drop  of  something  'ot,  than  all 
your  ices  and  rubbish." 

Mugford  had  a  curious  knowledge  of  what  was  going  on  in  the 
world,  and  of  the  affairs  of  countless  people.  When  Cass  brought 
Philip's  article  to  his  Excellency,  and  mentioned  the  author's  name, 
Mugford  showed  himself  to  be  perfectly  familiar  with  the  histories 
of  Philip  and  his  father.  "  The  old  chap  has  nobbled  the  young 
fellow's  money,  almost  every  shilling  of  it,  I  hear.  Knew  he  never 
would  carry  on.  His  discounts  would  have  killed  any  man.  Seen 
his  paper  about  this  ten  year.  Young  one  is  a  gentleman — pas- 
sionate fellow,  hawhaw  fellow,  but  kind  to  the  poor.  Father  never 
was  a  gentleman,  with  all  his  fine  airs  and  fine  waistcoats.  I  don't 
set  up  in  that  line  myself,  Cass,  but  I  tell  you  I  know  'em  when  I 
see  'em." 

Philip  had  friends  and  private  patrons  whose  influence  was  great 
with  the  Mugford  family,  and  of  whom  he  little  knew.  Every  year 
Mrs.  M.  was  in  the  habit  of  contributing  a  Mugford  to  the  woi'Id. 
She  was  one  of  Mrs.  Brandon's  most  regular  clients  ;  and  year  after 
year,  almost  from  his  first  arrival  in  London,  Ridley,  the  jiainter, 
had  been  engaged  as  portrait  painter  to  this  worthy  family.  Philip 
and  his  illness ;  Philip  and  his  horses,  si)lendours,  and  entertain- 
ments ;  Philip  and  his  lamentable  downfall  and  ruin,  had  formed  the 
subject  of  many  an  interesting  talk  between  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her 
friend  the  Little  Sister  ;  and  as  Ave  know  Caroline's  infatuation  about 
the  young  fellow,  we  may  suppose  that  his  good  qualities  lost  nothing 
in  tlie  description.  When  that  article  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  a])- 
peared,  Nurse  Brandon  took  tlie  omnibus  to  Haverstock  Hill,  where, 
as  you  know,  Mugford  had  his  villa; — arrived  at  Mrs.  Mugtbrd's, 
Gazette  in  hand,  and  had  a  long  and  delightful  conversation  with 
that  lady.  Mrs.  Brandon  bought  I  don't  know  how  many  cojjies  of 
that  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  She  now  asked  for  it  rei)eatedly  in  her 
walks  at  sundry  ginger-beer  shoj)s,  and  of  all  sorts  of  newsvendors. 
I  have  lieard  that  when  the  Mugfords  first  purchased  the  Gazette, 
Mrs.  M.  used  to  drop  bills  from  her  pony-chaise,  and  distribute  pla- 
cards setting  forth  the  excellence  of  the  journal.  "  We  keep  our 
carriage,  but  we  ain't  above  our  business,  Brandon,"  that  good  lady 
would  say.  And  the  business  prospered  under  the  management  of 
these  worthy  folks  ;  and  the  pony-chaise  unfolded  into  a  noble 
barouche;  and    the  puny  incrcusril    and   midtiplicil,   and  iHM'amc  a 


280  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

pair  of  liorses  ;  and  tliere  was  not  a  riclier  piece  of  gold  lace  round 
any  coachman's  hat  in  London  than  now  decorated  John,  who  had 
grown  with  the  growth  of  his  master's  fortunes,  and  drove  the 
chariot  in  which  his  worthy  employers  rode  on  the  way  to  Hamp- 
stead,  honour,  and  prosperity. 

"  All  this  pitching  into  the  poet  is  very  well,  you  know,  Cassidy," 
says  Mugford  to  his  subordinate.  "It's  like  shooting  a  butterfly 
with  a  blunderbuss  ;  but  if  Firmin  likes  that  kind  of  sport,  I  don't 
mind.  There  won't  be  any  difficulty  about  taking  his  copy  at  our 
place.  The  Duchess  knows  another  old  woman  who  is  a  friend  of 
his"  ("the  Duchess"  was  the  title  which  Mr.  Mugford  was  in  the 
playful  hai)it  of  conferring  upon  his  wife).  "  It's  my  belief  young 
F.  had  better  stick  to  the  law,  and  leave  the  writing  rubbish  alone. 
But  he  knows  his  own  aft'airs  best,  and,  mind  you,  the  Duchess  is 
determined  we  shall  give  him  a  helping  hand." 

Once,  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity,  and  in  J.  J.'s  company, 
Philip  had  visited  Mrs.  Mugford  and  her  family — a  circumstance 
which  the  gentleman  had  almost  forgotten.  The  painter  and  his 
friend  were  taking  a  Sunday  walk,  and  came  upon  Mugford's  pretty 
cottage  and  garden,  and  were  hospitably  entertained  there  by  the 
owners  of  the  place.  It  has  disappeared,  and  the  old  garden  has 
long  since  been  covered  by  terraces  and  villas,  and  Mugford  and 
Mrs.  M.,  good  souls,  where  are  they?  But  the  lady  thought  she 
had  never  seen  such  a  fine-looking  young  fellow  as  Philip ;  cast 
about  in  her  mind  which  of  her  little  female  Mugfords  should  marry 
him  ;  and  insisted  upon  offering  her  guest  champagne.  Poor  Phil ! 
So,  you  see,  whilst,  perhaps,  he  was  rather  pluming  himself  upon 
his  literary  talents,  and  imagining  that  he  was  a  clever  fellow,  he 
was  only  the  object  of  a  job  on  the  part  of  two  or  three  good  folks, 
who  knew  his  history,  and  compassionated  his  misfortunes. 

Mugford  recalled  himself  to  Philip's  recollection,  when  they  met 
after  the  appearance  of  Mr.  Phil's  first  performance  in  the  Gazette. 
If  he  still  took  a  Sunday  walk  Hampstead  way,  Mr.  M.  requested 
him  to  remember  that  there  was  a  slice  of  beef  and  a  glass  of  wine 
at  the  old  shop.  Philip  remembered  it  well  enough  now  :  the  ugly 
room,  the  ugly  family,  the  kind  worthy  peo])le.  Ere  long  he  learned 
what  had  been  Mrs.  Brandon's  connection  with  them,  and  the  young 
man's  heart  was  softened  and  grateful  as  he  thought  how  this  kind 
gentle  creature  had  been  able  to  befriend  him.  She,  we  may  be 
sure,  was  not  a  little  proud  of  her  protege.  I  believe  she  grew  to 
fancy  that  the  whole  newspaper  was  written  by  Philip.  She  made 
her  fond  parent  read  it  aloud  as  she  worked.  Mr.  Ridley,  senior, 
pronounced  it  was  remarkably  fine,  really  now;  without,  I  think, 
entirely  comprehending  the  meaning  of  the  sentiments  which  Mr. 


ON    HIS    AVAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      2S1 

Gann  gave  forth  in  his  ricli  loud  voice,  and  often  dropping  asleej)  in 
his  chair  during  this  sermon. 

In  the  autumn,  Mr.  Firmin's  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Pendennis, 
selected  the  romantic  seaport  town  of  Boulogne  for  their  holiday 
residence ;  and  having  roomy  quarters  in  the  old  town,  we  gave  Mr. 
Philip  an  invitation  to  pay  us  a  visit  whenever  he  could  tear  him- 
self away  from  literature  and  law.  He  came  in  high  spirits.  He 
amused  us  hy  imitations  and  descriptions  of  his  new  proprietor  and 
master,  Mr.  Mugford — his  blunders,  liis  bad  language,  his  good 
heart.  One  day  Mugford  expected  a  celebrated  literary  character 
to  dinner,  and  Pliili])  and  Cassidy  were  invited  to  meet  him.  The 
great  man  was  ill,  and  Mas  unable  to  come.  "  Don't  dish  up  tlie 
side  dishes,"  called  out  IMugford  to  his  cook,  in  the  hearing  of  his 
other  guests.  "  Mr.  Lyon  ain't  a-coming."  They  dined  quite 
sutKciently  without  the  side-dishes,  and  were  perfectly  cheerful  in 
the  absence  of  the  lion.  Mugford  patronised  his  young  men  with 
amusing  good-nature.  "  Firmin,  cut  the  goose  for  the  Duchess,  will 
you  1  Cass  can't  say  Bo  !  to  one,  he  can't.  Ridley,  a  little  of  the 
stuffing.  It'll  make  your  hair  curl."  And  Philip  was  going  to 
imitate  a  frightful  act  with  the  cold  steel  (with  which  I  have  said 
Philip's  master  used  to  convey  food  to  his  mouth),  but  our  dear 
innocent  tliird  daughter  uttered  a  shriek  of  terror,  which  caused  him 
to  drop  the  dreadful  weapon.  Our  darling  little  Florence  is  a 
nervous  child,  and  the  sight  of  an  edged  tool  causes  her  anguisli, 
ever  since  our  darling  little  Tom  nearly  cut  his  thunil)  off"  with 
his  father's  razor. 

Our  main  amusement  in  this  delightful  ])lace  was  to  look  at  the 
sea-sick  landing  from  the  steamers ;  and  one  day,  as  we  witnessed 
this  phenomenon,  Philip  sprang  to  the  ropes  which  divided  us  from 
the  arriving  passengers,  and  with  a  cry  of  "How  do  you  do, 
General  ? "  greeted  a  yellow-faced  gentleman  who  started  back,  and, 
to  ray  thinking,  seemed  but  ill  inclined  to  reciprocate  Philip's 
friendly  greeting.  Tlie  General  was  ffuttercd,  no  doubt,  liy  the 
bustle  and  interruptions  incidental  to  the  landing.  A  pallid  lady, 
the  partner  of  his  existence  ])robably,  was  calling  out,  "Noof  et  doo 
domestiques.  Doo  !  "  to  the  sentries  wlio  kept  tlie  line,  and  wdio 
seemed  little  interested  by  tliis  family  news.  A  governess,  a  tall 
young  lady,  and  several  more  male  and  female  children  followed  tlie 
jiale  lady,  who,  as  I  thought,  looked  strangely  frightened  when  the 
gentleman  addressed  as  General  communicated  to  her  Philip's  name. 
"Is  that  him?"  said  the  lady  in  questionable  grammar;  and  the 
tall  young  lady  turned  a  pair  of  large  eyes  ui)on  the  individual 
designated  as  "  him,"  and  showed  a  ])air  of  dank  ringlets,  out  of 
which  the  envious  sea-nymphs  had  shaken  all  the  curl. 


282  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

The  General  turned  out  to  be  General  Baynes  ;  the  pale  lady  was 
Mrs.  General  B.  ;  the  tall  young  lady  was  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes, 
the  General's  eldest  child  ;  and  the  other  six,  forming  nine,  or  "  noof," 
in  all,  as  Mrs.  General  B.  said,  were  the  otlier  members  of  the 
Baynes  family.  And  here  I  may  as  well  say  why  the  General 
looked  alarmed  on  seeing  Philip,  and  why  the  General's  lady 
frowned  at  him.  In  action  one  of  the  bravest  of  men,  in  common 
life  General  Baynes  was  timorous  and  weak.  Specially  he  was 
afraid  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  who  ruled  him  with  a  vigorous 
authority.  As  Pliilip's  trustee  he  had  allowed  Philip's  father  to 
make  away  with  the  boy's  money.  He  learned  with  a  ghastly  terror 
that  he  was  answerable  for  his  own  remissness  and  want  of  care. 
For  a  long  while  he  did  not  dare  to  tell  his  commander-in-chief  of 
this  dreadful  penalty  which  was  hanging  over  him.  When  at  last 
he  ventured  upon  this  confession,  I  do  not  envy  him  the  scene  which 
must  have  ensued  between  him  and  his  commanding  officer.  The 
morning  after  the  fatal  confession,  when  the  children  assembled  for 
breakfast  and  prayers,  Mrs.  Baynes  gave  their  young  ones  their 
porridge  :  she  and  Cliarlotte  poured  out  the  tea  and  coffee  for  the 
elders,  and  then,  addressing  her  eldest  son  Ochterlony,  she  said, 
"  Ocky,  my  boy,  the  General  has  announced  a  charming  piece  of 
news  this  morning." 

"  Bought  that  pony,  sir  ? "  says  Ocky. 

"  Oh,  what  jolly  fun  !  "  says  Moira,  the  second  son. 

"  Dear  dear  papa  !  What's  the  matter,  and  why  do  you  look 
so  1 "  cries  Charlotte,  looking  behind  her  father's  paper. 

That  guilty  man  woidd  fain  have  made  a  shroud  of  his  Morning 
Herald.  He  would  have  flung  the  sheet  over  his  whole  body,  and 
lain  hidden  there  from  all  eyes. 

"  The  fun,  my  dears,  is  that  your  father  is  ruined :  that's  the 
fun.  Eat  your  porridge  now,  little  ones.  Charlotte,  pop  a  bit  of 
butter  in  Carrick's  porridge ;  for  you  mayn't  have  any  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  gammon,"  cries  Moira. 

"  You'll  soon  see  whether  it  is  gammon  or  not,  sir,  when  you'll 
be  starving,  sir.  Your  father  has  ruined  us — and  a  very  pleasant 
morning's  work,  I  am  sure." 

And  she  calmly  rubs  the  nose  of  her  youngest  cliild  who  is  near 
her,  and  too  young,  and  innocent,  and  careless,  perhaps,  of  the 
world's  censure  as  yet  to  keep  in  a  strict  cleanliness  her  own  dear 
little  snub  nose  and  dappled  cheeks. 

"We  are  only  ruined,  and  shall  be  starving  soon,  my  dears,  and 
if  tlie  General  has  bought  a  pony — as  I  daresay  he  has ;  he  is  quite 
capable  of  buying  a  pony  when  we  are  starving — the  best  thing  we 
can  do  is  to  eat  the  pony.     M'Grigor,  don't  laugh.     Starvation  is 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      283 

no  laughing  matter.  When  we  were  at  Dumdum,  in  '36,  we  ate 
some  colt.  Don't  you  remember  Jubber's  colt — Jubber  of  the 
Horse  Artillery,  General?  Never  tasted  anything  more  tender  in 
all  my  life.  Charlotte,  take  Jany's  hands  out  of  the  marmalade  ! 
We  are  all  ruined,  my  dears,  as  sure  as  our  name  is  Baynes."  Thus 
did  the  mother  of  the  family  prattle  on  in  the  midst  of  her  little 
ones,  and  announce  to  them  the  dreadful  news  of  impending  starva- 
tion. "  General  Baynes,  by  his  carelessness,  had  allowed  Dr.  Firmiii 
to  make  away  witli  the  money  over  which  the  General  had  been  set 
as  sentinel.  Philip  might  recover  from  the  trustee,  and  no  doubt 
would.  Perhaps  he  would  not  press  his  claim?  My  dear,  what 
can  you  expect  from  the  son  of  such  a  fiither?  Dei)end  on  it, 
Charlotte,  no  good  fruit  can  come  from  a  stock  like  that.  The  son 
is  a  bad  one,  the  father  is  a  bad  one,  and  yoiu-  father,  poor  dear 
soul !  is  not  fit  to  be  trusted  to  walk  the  street  without  some  one 
to  keep  him  from  tumbling.  Why  did  I  allow  him  to  go  to  town 
without  me  ?  We  were  quartered  at  Colchester  then  :  and  I  could 
not  move  on  account  of  your  brother  M'Grigor.  '  Baynes,'  I  said 
to  your  father,  '  as  sure  as  I  let  you  go  away  to  town  without  me, 
you  will  come  to  mischief.'  And  go  he  did,  and  come  to  mischief 
he  did.  And  through  his  folly,  I  and  my  poor  children  must  go  and 
beg  our  bread  in  the  streets — I  and  my  seven  poor  robbed  penniless 
little  ones.     Oh,  it's  cruel,  cruel !  " 

Indeed,  one  cannot  fancy  a  more  dismal  prospect  for  this  wortliy 
mother  and  wife  than  to  see  her  children  without  ])rovision  at  the 
commencement  of  their  lives,  and  her  luckless  husband  robbed  of 
his  life's  earnings,  and  ruined  just  when  he  was  too  old  to  Avork. 

What  was  to  become  of  them  1  Now  poor  Charlotte  tliought, 
with  pangs  of  a  keen  remorse,  how  idle  she  had  been,  and  how  she 
had  snubbed  her  governesses,  and  how  little  she  knew,  and  how 
badly  she  played  the  piano.  Oh,  neglected  opportunities  !  Oh, 
remorse,  now  the  time  was  past  and  irrecoverable  !  Does  any  young 
lady  read  this  wlio,  perchance,  ouglit  to  be  doing  her  lessons  1  My 
dear,  lay  down  tlie  story-lxjok  at  once.  Go  up  to  your  schoolroom, 
and  practise  your  piano  for  two  hours  tins  moment ;  so  tliat  you 
may  be  prepared  to  support  your  family,  should  ruin  in  any  case 
fall  upon  1/ou.  A  great  girl  of  sixteen,  I  pity  Charlotte  Baynes's 
feelings  of  anguish.  She  can't  write  a  very  good  hand ;  she  can 
scarcely  answer  any  question  to  speak  of  in  any  educational  books ; 
her  pianoforte  playing  is  very  very  so-so  indeed.  If  she  is  to  go 
out  and  get  a  living  for  the  family,  how,  in  the  name  of  goodness, 
is  she  to  set  about  it?  Wliat  are  they  to  do  with  the  boys,  and 
the  money  that  has  been  put  away  for  Ocliterlony  when  he  goes  to 
college,  and   for  Moira's  commission?     "Why,  Ave  can't  afford  to 


284  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

keep  them  at  Dr.  Pybiis's,  where  they  were  doing  .so  well ;  and  they 
were  ever  so  much  better  and  more  gentlemanlike  than  Colonel 
Chandler's  boys ;  and  to  lose  the  army  will  break  Moira's  heart, 
it  will.  And  the  little  ones,  my  little  blue-eyed  Carrick,  and  my 
darling  Jany,  and  my  Mary,  that  I  nursed  almost  miraculously  out 
of  her  scarlet  fever.  God  help  them  !  God  help  us  all ! "  thinks 
tlie  poor  mother.  No  wonder  that  her  nights  are  wakeful,  and  her 
heart  in  a  tumult  of  alarm  at  the  idea  of  the  impending  dangei". 

And  the  father  of  the  family  ? — the  stout  old  General  whose 
battles  and  campaigns  are  over,  who  has  come  home  to  rest  his 
war-worn  limbs,  and  make  his  peace  with  Heaven  ere  it  calls  him 
away — what  must  be  his  feelings  wlien  he  thinks  that  he  has  been 
entrapped  by  a  villain  into  committing  an  imprudence  which  makes 
his  children  penniless  and  himself  dishonoured  and  a  beggar  ?  When 
he  found  what  Dr.  Firmin  had  done,  and  how  he  had  been  cheated, 
he  went  away,  aghast,  to  his  lawyer,  who  could  give  him  no  help. 
Philip's  mother's  trustee  was  answerable  to  Philip  for  his  property. 
It  had  been  stolen  through  Baynes's  own  carelessness,  and  the  law 
bound  him  to  replace  it.  General  Baynes's  man  of  business  could 
not  help  him  out  of  his  perplexity  at  all ;  and  I  hope  my  worthy 
reader  is  not  going  to  be  too  angry  with  the  General  for  what  I 
own  he  did.  You  never  would,  my  dear  sir,  I  know.  No  power 
on  earth  would  induce  you  to  depart  one  inch  from  the  path  of 
rectitude ;  or,  having  done  an  act  of  imprudence,  to  shrink  from 
bearing  the  consequence.  The  long  and  short  of  the  matter  is,  that 
poor  Baynes  and  his  wife,  after  holding  agitated  stealthy  councils 
together — after  believing  that  every  strange  face  they  saw  was  a 
bailiif's  coming  to  arrest  them  on  Philip's  account — after  horrible 
days  of  remorse,  misery,  guilt — I  say  the  long  and  the  short  of  the 
matter  was  that  these  poor  people  determined  to  run  away.  They 
would  go  and  hide  themselves  anywhei'e — in  an  impenetrable  pine 
forest  in  Norway — up  an  inaccessible  mountain  in  Switzerland. 
They  would  change  their  names  ;  dye  their  mustachios  and  honest 
old  white  hair ;  fly  with  their  little  ones  away,  away,  a,way,  out  of 
the  reach  of  law  and  Philip  ;  and  the  first  flight  lands  them  on 
Boulogne  Pier,  and  there  is  Mr.  Philip  holding  out  his  hand  and 
actually  eyeing  them  as  they  get  out  of  the  steamer  !  Eyeing  them? 
It  is  the  eye  of  Heaven  that  is  on  those  criminals.  Holding  out 
his  hand  to  them  ?  It  is  the  hand  of  fate  that  is  on  their  wretched 
shoulders.  No  wonder  they  shuddered  and  turned  pale.  That 
which  I  took  for  sea-sickness,  I  am  sorry  to  say  was  a  guilty 
conscience :  and  where  is  the  steward,  my  dear  friends,  who  can 
relieve  us  of  that  1 

As  this  party  came  staggering  out  of  the  Custom-house,  poor 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     285 

Baynes  still  found  Philip's  hand  stretclied  out  to  catch  hold  of 
him,  and  saluted  him  with  a  ghastly  cordiality.  "  These  are  your 
children,  General,  and  this  is  Mrs.  Baynes?"  says  Philip,  smiling, 
and  taking  oft"  his  hat. 

"  Oh  yes !  I'm  Mrs.  General  Baynes  ! "  says  the  poor  woman  ; 
"and  these  are  the  children — yes,  yes.  Charlotte,  this  is  Mr. 
Firmin,  of  whom  you  have  heard  us  s])cak  ;  and  these  are  my  boys, 
Moira  and  Ochterlony." 

"  I  have  had  the  honour  of  meeting  General  Baynes  at  Old  Parr 
Street.  Don't  you  remember,  sir  1 "  says  Mr.  Pendennis  with  great 
affability  to  the  General. 

"  What,  another  who  knows  me  ? "  I  daresay  the  poor  wretch 
thinks ;  and  glances  of  a  dreadful  meaning  pass  between  the  guilty 
wife  and  the  guilty  liusband. 

"  You  are  going  to  stay  at  any  hotel  ? " 

'"Hotel  des  Bains!'"  "'H6tel  du  Nord!'"  '"Hotel  d'Angle- 
terre  j '  "  here  cry  twenty  commissioners  in  a  breath. 

"  Hotel  1  Oh  yes  !  That  is,  we  have  not  made  up  our  minds 
whether  we  shall  go  on  to-night  or  whether  we  shall  stay,"  say 
those  guilty  ones,  looking  at  one  another,  and  then  down  to  tlie 
ground  ;  on  winch  one  of  the  children,  with  a  roar,  says- — 

"  Oh,  ma,  what  a  story  !  You  said  you'd  stay  to-night ;  and  I 
was  so  sick  in  the  beastly  boat,  and  I  won't  travel  any  more  !  " 
And  tears  choke  his  artless  utterance.  "  And  you  sai(l  Bang  to 
the  man  who  took  your  keys,  you  know  you  did,"  resumes  the 
innocent,  as  soon  as  he  can  gasp  a  further  remark. 

"  Who  told  i/ou  to  speak  1 "  cried  mamma,  giving  the  boy  a 
shake. 

"This  is  the  way  to  tlie  'Hotel  des  Bains,'"  says  Philip, 
making  Miss  Baynes  another  of  his  best  bows.  And  Miss  Baynes 
makes  a  curtsey,  and  her  eyes  look  up  at  the  handsome  young  man 
— large  brown  honest  eyes  in  a  comely  round  face,  on  each  side  of 
which  depend  two  straight  wisps  of  brown  hair  that  were  ringlets 
when  they  left  Folkestone  a  few  hours  since. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  look  at  those  women  with  the  short  petticoats  ! 
and  wooden  shoes,  by  George  !  Oh  !  it's  jolly,  ain't  it  1 "  cries  one 
young  gentleman. 

"By  George,  there's  a  man  witli  earrings  on  !  There  is,  Ocky, 
upon  my  word  !  "  calls  out  another.  And  the  elder  boy,  turning 
round  to  his  father,  points  to  some  soldieis.  "  Did  you  ever  see 
such  little  beggars  1 "  he  says,  tossing  his  head  up.  "  They  wouldn't 
take  such  fellows  into  our  line." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  tired,  thank  you,"  says  Charlotte.  "  I  am 
accustomed  to  carry  him."     I  forgot  to  say  that  the  young  lady 


286  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

had  one  of  the  children  asleep  on  her  shoulder ;  and  another  was 
toddling  at  her  side,  holding  by  his  sister's  dress,  and  admiring 
Mr.  Finnin's  whiskers,  that  flamed  and  curled  very  luminously  and 
gloriously,  like  to  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun. 

"I  am  very  glad  we  met,  sir,"  says  Pliilip,  in  the  most  friendly 
manner,  taking  leave  of  the  General  at  the  gate  of  his  hotel.  "  I 
hope  you  won't  go  away  to-morrow,  and  that  I  may  come  and  pay 
my  respects  to  Mrs.  Baynes."  Again  he  salutes  that  lady  with  a 
coup  de  chapeau.  Again  he  bows  to  Miss  Baynes.  She  makes  a 
pretty  curtsey  enough,  considering  that  she  has  a  baby  asleep  on 
her  shoulder.  And  they  enter  the  hotel,  the  excellent  Marie 
marshalling  them  to  fitting  apartments,  where  some  of  them,  I  have 
no  doubt,  will  sleep  very  soundly.  How  much  more  comfortably 
might  poor  Baynes  and  his  wife  have  slept  liad  they  known  what 
were  Philip's  feelings  regarding  them  ! 

We  both  admired  Charlotte,  the  tall  girl  who  carried  her  little 
brother,  and  around  whom  the  others  clung.  And  we  spoke  loudly 
in  Miss  Charlotte's  praises  to  Mrs.  Pendennis,  when  we  joined  that 
lady  at  dinner.  In  the  praise  of  Mrs.  Baynes  we  had  not  a  great 
deal  to  say,  further  than  that  she  seemed  to  take  command  of  the 
whole  expedition,  including  the  general  ofiicer,  her  husband. 

Though  Marie's  beds  at  the  "  Hotel  des  Bains  "  are  as  comfort- 
able as  any  beds  in  Europe,  you  see  that  admirable  chambermaid 
cannot  lay  out  a  clean  easy  conscience  upon  the  clean  fragrant 
pillow-case ;  and  General  and  Mrs.  Baynes  owned,  in  after  days, 
that  one  of  the  most  dreadful  nights  they  ever  passed  was  that  of 
their  first  landing  in  France.  What  refugee  from  his  country  can 
fly  from  himself?  Railways  were  not  as  yet  in  that  part  of  France. 
The  General  was  too  poor  to  fly  with  a  couple  of  private  carriages, 
which  he  must  have  had  for  his  family  of  "  noof,"  his  governess, 
and  two  servants.  Encumbered  with  such  a  train,  his  enemy  would 
speedily  have  pursued  and  ovei'taken  him.  It  is  a  fact  that, 
immediately  after  landing  at  his  hotel,  he  and  his  commanding 
officer  went  off  to  see  when  they  could  get  places  for — never  mind 
the  name  of  the  place  where  they  really  thought  of  taking  refuge. 
They  never  told,  but  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  sister,  Mrs.  Major 
MacWhirter  (married  to  MacW.  of  the  Bengal  Cavalry),  and  the 
sisters  loved  each  other  very  affectionately,  especially  by  letter,  for 
it  must  be  owned  that  they  quarrelle<l  frightfully  when  together  ; 
and  Mrs.  MacWhirter  never  could  bear  that  her  younger  sister 
should  be  taken  out  to  dinner  before  her,  because  she  was  married 
to  a  superior  officer.  Well,  their  littJe  differences  were  forgotten 
when  the  two  ladies  were  apart.  The  sisters  wrote  to  each  other 
prodigious  long  letters,  in  which  household  affairs,   the  children's 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     287 

puerile  diseases,  tlie  relative  prices  of  veal,  eggs,  chickens,  the  rent 
of  lodging  and  houses  in  various  places,  were  fully  discussed.  And 
as  Mrs.  Baynes  showed  a  surprising  knowledge  of  Tours,  the 
markets,  rents,  clergymen,  society  there,  and  as  Major  and  Mrs. 
Mac  were  staying  tliere,  I  have  little  doubt,  for  my  part,  from  this 
and  another  not  unimi^rtant  circumstance,  that  it  was  to  that  fair 
city  our  fugitives  were  wending  their  way,  when  events  occurred 
which  must  now  be  narrated,  and  which  caused  General  Baynes  at 
the  head  of  his  domestic  regiment  to  do  wliat  the  King  of  France 
with  twenty  thousand  men  is  said  to  have  done  in  old  times. 

Philip  was  greatly  interested  about  the  family.  Tlie  truth  is, 
we  were  all  very  much  bored  at  Boulogne.  We  read  the  feeblest 
London  papers  at  the  reading-room  with  frantic  assiduity.  We  saw 
all  the  boats  come  in  :  and  the  day  was  lost  when  we  missed  the 
Folkestone  boat  or  the  London  boat.  We  consumed  much  time 
and  absinthe  at  cafds ;  and  tramped  leagues  upon  that  old  pier 
every  day.  Well,  Philip  was  at  the  "  Hotel  des  Bains  "  at  a  very 
early  hour  next  morning,  and  there  he  saw  the  General,  with  a  woe- 
worn  face,  leaning  on  his  stick,  and  looking  at  his  luggage,  as  it  lay 
piled  in  the  porte-cochere  of  the  hotel.  There  they  lay,  thirty-seven 
packages  in  all,  including  washing-tubs,  and  a  child's  India  sleeping- 
cot  ;  and  all  these  packages  were  ticketed  M.  le  General  Baynes, 
Officier  Anglais,  Tours,  Touraine,  France.  I  say,  putting 
two  and  two  together;  calling  to  mind  Mrs.  General's  singular 
knowledge  of  Tours  and  familiarity  with  the  place  and  its  prices ; 
remembering  that  her  sister  Emily — Mrs.  Major  MacWliirter  in 
fact— was  there ;  and  seeing  thirty-seven  trunks,  bags,  and  port- 
manteaus, all  directed  "M.  le  Gdndral  Baynes,  Officier  Anglais, 
Tours,  Touraine,"  am  I  wrong  in  supposing  that  Tours  was  the 
General's  destination  ?  On  the  other  hand,  we  have  tiie  old  officer's 
declaration  to  Philip  that  he  did  not  know  where  he  was  going. 
Oh,  you  sly  old  man  !  Oh,  you  grey  old  fox,  beginning  to  double 
and  to  turn  at  sixty-seven  years  of  age  !  WelU  The  General  was 
in  retreat,  and  he  did  not  wish  the  enemy  to  know  u]ion  what  lines 
he  was  retreating.  What  is  the  harm  of  tliat,  pray  1  Besides,  he 
was  under  the  orders  of  his  connuanding  othcer,  and  when  Mrs. 
General  gave  her  orders,  I  shoulil  have  liked  to  see  any  officer  of 
hers  disolx'v. 

"  What  a  i)yramid  of  portmanteaus  !  You  are  not  thinking  of 
moving  to-day,  General?"  says  Philip. 

"  It  is  Sunday,  sir,"  says  the  General ;  which  you  will  perceive 
was  not  answering  the  question  ;  but,  in  truth,  except  for  a  very 
great  emergency,  the  good  General  would  not  travel  on  that  day. 

"I  hnjic  the  ];i(lies  slept  well  after  their  windy  voyage." 


288  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Thank  you.  My  wife  is  an  old  sailor,  and  has  made  two 
voyages  out  and  home  to  India."  Here,  you  understand,  the  old 
man  is  again  eluding  his  interlocutor's  artless  queries. 

"  I  should  like  to  have  some  talk  with  you,  sir,  when  you  are 
free,"  continues  Philip,  not  having  leisure  as  yet  to  be  surprised  at 
tlie  other's  demeanour. 

"  There  are  other  days  besides  Sunday  for  talk  on  business," 
says  tliat  piteous  sly-boots  of  an  old  officer.  Ah,  conscience ! 
conscience !  Twenty-four  Siklis,  sword  in  hand,  two  dozen 
Pindarrees,  Mahrattas,  Ghoorkas,  what  you  please — that  old  man 
felt  that  he  would  rather  have  met  them  than  Philip's  unsuspecting 
blue  eyes.  These,  however,  now  lighted  up  with  rather  an  angry, 
"  Well,  sir,  as  you  don't  talk  business  on  Sunday,  may  I  call  on 
you  to-morrow  morning  ?  " 

And  wliat  advantage  had  the  poor  old  fellow  got  by  all  this 
doubling  and  hesitating  and  artfulness  ?— a  respite  until  to-morrow 
morning !  Another  night  of  horrible  wakefulness  and  hopeless 
guilt,  aud  Philip  waiting  ready  the  next  morning  with  his  little  bill, 
and,  "  Please  pay  me  the  thirty  thousand  which  my  father  spent 
and  you  owe  me.  Please  turn  out  into  the  streets  with  your  wife 
and  family,  and  beg  and  starve.  Have  the  goodness  to  hand  me 
out  your  last  rupee.  Be  kind  enough  to  sell  your  children's  clothes 
and  your  wife's  jewels,  and  hand  over  the  proceeds  to  me.  I'll  call 
to-morrow.     Bye  bye." 

Here  there  came  tripping  over  the  marble  pavement  of  the  hall 
of  the  hotel  a  tall  young  lady  in  a  brown  silk  dress  and  rich  curling 
ringlets  falling  upon  her  fair  young  neck — beautiful  brown  curling 
ringlets,  vous  contpreiiez,  not  wisps  of  moistened  hair,  and  a  broad 
clear  forehead,  and  two  honest  eyes  shining  below  it,  and  cheeks 
not  pale  as  they  were   yesterday  ;  and  lips  redder  still ;  and  slie 

says,  "  Papa,  papa,  won't  you  come  to  breakfost  1    The  tea  is " 

What  the  precise  state  of  the  tea  is  I  don't  know — none  of  us  ever 
shall — for  here  she  says,  "  Oh,  Mr.  Firmin  !  "  and  makes  a  curtsey. 

To  which  remark  Philip  replied,  "  Miss  Baynes,  I  hope  you  are 
very  well  this  morning,  and  not  the  worse  for  yesterday's  rougli 
weather r' 

"I  am  quite  well,  thank  you,"  was  Miss  Baynes's  instant  reply. 
The  answer  was  not  witty,  to  be  sure ;  but  I  don't  know  that  under 
the  circumstances  she  could  have  said  anything  more  appropriate. 
Indeed,  never  was  a  pleasanter  picture  of  health  and  good-humour 
than  the  young  lady  presented  ;  a  difference  more  pleasant  to  note 
than  Miss  Charlotte's  pale  face  from  the  steamboat  on  Saturday, 
and  shining,  rosy,  happy,  and  innocent,  in  the  cloudless  Sabbath 
morn. 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     289 


"  A  Madame, 
"  Madame  le  Major  MacWhirter, 
"  k  Tours, 

"  Touraine, 
"  France. 

"  TlNTELLERIES,    BoULOGNE-SUR-MeR  : 

"  Wednesday,  August  24,  18 — . 

"Dearest  Emily, — After  suffering  more  dreadfully  in  the  tivo 
hours'  passage  from  Folkestone  to  this  place  than  I  have  in  four 
passages  out  and  home  from  India,  except  in  that  terrible  storm  off 
the  Cape,  in  September  1824,  when  I  certainly  did  suffer  most 
cruelly  on  board  that  horrible  troopship,  we  reached  this  place  last 
Saturday  evening,  having  a  full  detertniyiation  to  proceed  im- 
mediately on  our  route.  JVow,  you  will  perceive  that  our  minds 
are  changed.  We  found  this  place  pleasant,  and  the  lodgings  be- 
sides most  neat,  comfortable,  and  well  found  in  everything,  mare 
reasonable  than  you  proposed  to  get  for  us  at  Tours,  which  I  am 
told  also  is  damp,  and  might  bring  on  the  General's  juvgle  fever 
again.  Owing  to  the  hooping-cough  having  just  been  in  tlie  house, 
which,  praised  be  mercy,  all  my  dear  ones  have  had  it,  including 
dear  baby,  who  is  quite  well  through  it,  and  recommended  sea  air, 
we  got  this  house  viore  reasonable  than  prices  you  mention  at 
Tours.  A  whole  house :  little  room  for  two  boys ;  nursery ;  nice 
little  room  for  Charlotte,  and  a  den  for  the  General.  I  don't  know 
how  ever  we  should  have  brought  our  party  safe  all  the  way  to 
Tours.  Thirty-seven  articles  of  luggage,  and  Miss  Flixby,  who 
announced  herself  as  perfect  French  governess,  acquired  at  Paris — 
perfect,  but  perfectly  useless.  She  can't  understand  the  French 
people  when  they  speak  to  hor,  and  goes  about  tlie  house  in  a  most 
bewilderiny  way.  I  am  the  interpreter ;  poor  Chailotte  is  much 
too  timid  to  speak  when  I  am  by.  I  have  rubbed  up  the  old  French 
which  we  learned  at  Chiswi(;k  at  Miss  Pinkerton's ;  and  I  find  my 
Hindostanee  of  great  help  :  wliicli  I  use  it  when  we  are  at  a  loss  for 
a  word,  and  it  answers  extremely  well.  We  pay  for  lodgings,  the 
whole  house  — - — ■  francs  per  month.  Butchers'  meat  and  i)oultry 
plentiful  but  dear.  A  grocer  in  tlie  Grande  Rue  sells  excellent  wine 
at  fiftecn))cnce  ])er  bottle  :  and  groceries  pretty  much  at  English 
prices.  Mr.  Blowman  at  the  English  chapel  of  the  Tintelleries  has 
a  fine  voice,  and  a])pears  to  be  a  viost  excellent  clergyvian.  I  have 
heard  him  only  once,  however,  on  Sunday  evening,  when  I  was  so 
agitated  and  so  unhappy  in  my  mind  tiiat  I  own  I  took  little  note 
of  his  sermon. 

"  The  cause  of  that  agitation  i/ou  know,  having  imparted  it  to 
11  '  X 


290 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 


you  in  my  letters  of  July,  June,  and  24th  of  May,  ult.  My  poor 
simple  ,i,qiilele.ss  Bayues  was  trustee  to  Mrs.  Dr.  Firmin,  before  she 
married  that  most  unprincipled  man.  When  we  were  at  home  last, 
and  exchanged  to  the  120th  from  the  99th,  my  poor  husband  was 
inveigled  by  the  horrid  luan  into  signing  a  paper  which  put  the 
Doctor  in  possession  of  all  his  wife^s  propei'ty ;  whereas  Charles 
thought  he  was  only  signing  a  power  of  attorney,  enabling  him  to 
receive  his  son's  dividends.  Dr.  F.,  after  the  most  atrocious  deceit, 
forgery,  and  criminality  of  every  kind,  fled  the  country ;  and 
Hunt  and  Pegler,  our  solicitors,  informed  us  that  the  General  was 
answerable  for  the  wickedness  of  this  miscreant.  He  is  so  weak 
that  he  has  been  many  and  many  times  on  the  point  of  going  to 
young  Mr.  F.  and  giving  u})  everything.  It  was  only  by  my 
prayers,  by  my  commands,  that  I  have  been  enabled  to  keep  him 
quiet ;  and,  indeed,  Emily,  the  effort  has  almost  killed  him. 
Brandy  repeatedly  I  was  obliged  to  administer  on  the  dreadful 
night  of  our  arrival  here. 

"For  the  first  2ier  son  we  met  on  landing  was  Mr.  Philip  Firmin, 
with  a  jiert  friend  of  his,  Mr.  Pendenuis,  v/hom  I  don't  at  all  like, 
though  his  wife  is  an  amiable  person  like  Emma  Fletcher  of  the 
Horse  Artillery  :  not  with  Emma's  style,  however,  but  still  amiable, 
and  dis])osed  to  be  most  civil.  Charlotte  has  taken  a  great  fancy  to 
iier,  as  she  always  does  to  every  new  person.  Well,  fancy  our  state 
on  landing,  when  a  young  gentleman  calls  out,  '  How  do  you  do. 
General  1 '  and  turns  out  to  be  Mr.  Firmin  !  I  thought  I  should 
have  lost  Charles  in  the  night.  I  have  seen  him  before  going  into 
action  as  calm,  and  sleejj  and  smile  as  sweet  as  aiiy  babe.  It  was 
all  I  could  do  to  keep  up  his  courage  :  and,  but  for  me,  but  for  my 
prayers,  but  for  my  agonies,  I  think  he  would  have  jumped  out  of  bed, 
and  gone  to  Mr.  F.  that  night,  and  said,  '  Take  everything  I  have.' 

"  Tlie  young  man  I  own  has  behaved  in  the  most  honourable 
way.  He  came  to  see  us  before  breakfast  on  Sunday,  when  the 
poor  General  was  so  ill  that  I  thought  he  would  have  fainted  over 
his  tea.  He  was  too  ill  to  go  to  church,  where  I  went  alone,  with 
my  dear  ones,  having,  as  I  own,  but  very  small  comfort  in  the 
sermon  :  but  oh,  Emily,  fancy,  on  our  return,  when  I  went  into  our 
room,  I  found  my  General  on  his  knees  with  his  Church  Service 
before  him,  crying,  crying  like  a  baby  !  You  know  I  am  hasty  in  my 
temper  sometimes,  and  his  is  indeed  a7i  angel's — and  I  said  to  him, 
'  Charles  Baynes,  be  a  man,  and  don't  cry  like  a  child  ! '  '  Ah,'  says 
he,  '  Eliza,  do  you  kneel,  and  thank  God  too ; '  on  which  I  said 
that  I  thought  I  did  not  require  instruction  in  my  religion  from 
him  or  any  man,  excej)t  a  clergyman,  and  many  of  these  are  b^lt 
poor  instructors,  as  you  knoio. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     291 

"'He  has  been  here,'  says  Charles;  when  I  said,  'Who  has 
been  here?'  'That  noble  young  fellow,'  says  my  General;  'that 
noble  noble  Philip  Firmin.'  Which  noble  his  conduct  I  own  it  has 
been.  '  Whilst  you  were  at  church  he  came  again — here  into  this 
very  room,  where  I  was  sitting,  doubting  and  despairing,  with  the 
Holy  Book  before  my  eyes,  and  no  comfort  out  of  it.  And  he  said 
to  me,  "  General,  I  want  to  talk  to  you  about  my  grandfather's  will. 
You  don't  suppose  that  because  my  father  has  deceived  you  and 
ruined  me,  I  will  carry  the  ruin  farther,  and  visit  his  wrong  upon 
children  and  innocent  people  1"  Those  were  the  young  man's 
words,'  my  General  said ;  and,  '  oh,  Eliza  ! '  says  he,  '  what  pangs 
of  remorse  I  felt  when  I  remembered  we  had  used  hard  words  about 
him,'  which  I  own  we  had,  for  his  manners  are  rough  and  haughty, 
and  I  have  heard  things  of  him  which  I  do  believe  now  can't  be 
true. 

"  All  Monday  my  poor  man  was  obliged  to  keep  his  bed  with  a 
smart  attack  of  his  fever.  But  yesterday  he  was  quite  bright  and 
well  again,  and  the  Pendennis  party  took  Charlotte  for  a  drive, 
and  showed  themselves  most  polite.  She  reminds  me  of  Mrs.  Tom 
Fletcher  of  the  Horse  Artillery,  but  that  I  think  I  have  mentioned 
before.  My  paper  is  full ;  and  with  our  best  to  MacWhirter  and 
the  children,  I  am  always  my  dearest  Emily's  aft'ectionate  sister, 

"Eliza  Baynes." 


CHAPTER  XVir 

BREVIS    ESSE   LA  BORO 

NEVER,  General  Baynes  afterwards  declared,  did  fever  come 
and  go  so  pleasantly  as  that  attack  to  which  we  have  seen 
the  Mrs.  General  advert  in  her  letter  to  her  sister,  Mrs. 
Major  MacWhirter.  The  cold  fit  was  merely  a  lively  pleasant 
chatter  and  rattle  of  the  teetli  ;  the  hot  fit  an  agreeable  warmth  ; 
and  though  the  ensuing  sleeji,  with  which  I  believe  such  aguish 
attacks  are  usually  concluded,  was  enlivened  by  several  dreams 
of  death,  demons,  and  torture,  how  felicitous  it  was  to  wake  and 
find  that  dreadful  thouglit  of  ruin  removed  which  had  always, 
for  the  last  few  months,  ever  since  Dr.  Firmin's  flight  and  the 
knowledge  of  his  own  imprudence,  pursued  the  good-natured  gentle- 
man !  What !  this  boy  might  go  to  college,  and  that  get  liis  com- 
mission ;  and  their  meals  need  be  embittered  by  no  more  dreadful 
thouglits  of  the  morrow,  and  their  walks  no  longer  were  dogged  by 
imaginary  bailifis,  and  presented  a  gaol  in  the  vista  !  It  was  too 
much  bliss ;  and  again  and  again  the  old  soldier  said  his  thankful 
prayers,  and  blessed  his  benefactor. 

Philip  thought  no  more  of  his  act  of  kindness,  except  to  be  very 
grateful,  and  very  happy  that  he  had  rendered  other  people  so. 
He  could  no  more  have  taken  the  old  man's  all,  and  plunged  that 
innocent  family  into  poverty,  than  he  could  have  stolen  the  forks 
off  my  table.  But  other  folks  were  disposed  to  rate  his  virtue 
much  more  highly ;  and  amongst  these  was  my  wife,  who  chose 
positively  to  worship  this  young  gentleman,  and  I  believe  would 
have  let  him  smoke  in  her  drawing-room  if  he  had  been  so  minded, 
and  though  her  genteelest  acquaintances  were  in  the  room.  Good- 
ness knows  what  a  noise  and  what  piteous  looks  are  produced 
if  ever  the  master  of  the  house  chooses  to  indulge  in  a  cigar 
after  dinner ;  but  then,  you  understand,  /  have  never  declined 
to  claim  mine  and  my  children's  right  because  an  old  gentleman 
would  be  inconvenienced  :  and  this  is  what  I  tell  Mrs.  Pen.  If 
I  order  a  coat  from  my  tailor,  must  I  refuse  to  pay  him  because 
a  rogue  steals  it,  and  ought  I  to  expect  to  be  let  off?  Women 
won't   see   matters  of  fact  in  a   matter-of-fact   point  of  view,  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     2p3 

justice,  unless  it  is  tinged  witli  a  little  romance,  gets  no  respect 
from  them. 

So,  forsooth,  because  Philip  has  performed  this  certainly  most 
generous,  most  dashing,  most  reckless  piece  of  extravagance,  he  is 
to  be  held  up  as  a  perfect  preux  chevalier.  The  most  riotous 
dinners  are  ordered  for  him.  We  are  to  wait  until  he  comes  to 
breakfast,  and  he  is  pretty  nearly  always  late.  The  children  are 
to  be  sent  round  to  kiss  Uncle  Philip,  as  he  is  now  called.  The 
children'?  I  wonder  the  mother  did  not  jumj)  up  and  kiss  him 
too.  EUe  en  etait  capable.  As  for  the  osculations  which  took  place 
between  Mrs.  Pendennis  and  her  new-found  young  friend,  Miss  Char- 
lotte Baynes,  they  were  perfectly  ridiculous ;  two  school  children 
could  not  have  behaved  more  absurdly  ;  and  I  don't  know  which 
seemed  to  be  the  younger  of  these  two.  There  were  colloquies, 
assignations,  meetings  on  the  ram[)arts,  on  the  pier,  where  know  I? 
— and  the  servants  and  little  children  of  the  two  establishments 
were  perpetually  trotting  to  and  fro  with  letters  from  dearest  Laura 
to  dearest  Ciiarlotte,  and  dearest  Charlotte  to  her  dearest  Mrs. 
Pendennis.  Why,  my  wife  absolutely  went  the  length  of  saying 
that  dearest  Chai'lotte's  mother,  Mrs.  Baynes,  was  a  worthy  clever 
woman,  and  a  good  motlier— a  woman  whose  tongue  never  ceased 
clacking  about  the  regiment,  and  all  the  officers,  and  all  tlie 
officers'  wives ;  of  whom,  by  the  way,  she  had  very  little  good 
to  tell. 

"A  worthy  mother,  is  she,  my  dear?"  I  say.  "But,  oh, 
mercy  !     Mrs.  Baynes  would  be  an  awful  mother-in-law  !  " 

I  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  having  such  a  commonplace,  hard, 
ill-bred  woman  in  a  state  of  quasi-authority  over  nie. 

On  this  Mrs.  Laura  must  break  out  in  quite  a  petulant  tone — 
"  Oh,  how  stale  this  kind  of  thing  is,  Arthur,  from  a  man  qui  veut 
passer  pour  un  homme  d!esprit !  You  arc  always  attacking 
mothers-in-law  ! " 

"  Witness  Mrs.  Mackenzie,  my  love — Clive  Newcomers  mother- 
in-law.     Tliat's  a  nice  creature  :  not  selfish,  not  wicked,  not " 

"  Not  nonsense,  Arthur  !  " 

"Mrs.  Baynes  knew  Mrs.  Mack(iizie  in  flie  West  Lidies,  as 
she  knew  all  the  female  army.  She  corisiders  ]\Irs.  I\Iackenzie  was 
a  most  elegant  handsome  dashing  woman — only  a  little  too  fond  of 
the  admiration  of  our  sex.  There  was,  I  own,  a  fascination  about 
Captain  Gol)y.  Do  you  remember,  my  love,  that  man  witli  the 
stays  and  dyed  liair,  who " 

"  Oh,  Arthur  !  Wlien  our  girls  marry,  I  sup{)ose  you  will  teach 
their  husbands  to  abuse,  and  scorn,  and  mistrust  their  mother- 
in-law.      Will  ho,  my  darlings?   will   he,  my  blessings?"      (This 


294  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

apart  to  the  children,  if  you  please.)  "  Go  !  I  have  no  patience 
with  such  talk  !  " 

"  Well,  my  love,  Mrs.  Baynes  is  a  most  agreeable  woman  ;  and 
when  I  have  heard  tliat  story  about  the  Highlanders  at  the  Cape 
of  Good  Hope  a  few  times  more  "  (I  do  not  tell  it  liere,  for  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  the  present  history),  "  I  daresay  I  shall  begin 
to  be  amused  by  it." 

"  Ah  !  here  comes  Charlotte,  I'm  glad  to  say.  How  pretty 
she  is  !     What  a  colour  !     What  a  dear  creature  ! " 

To  all  which  of  course  I  could  not  say  a  contradictory  word, 
for  a  prettier  fresher  lass  than  Miss  Baynes,  with  a  sweeter  voice, 
face,  laughter,  it  was  difficult  to  see. 

"  Why  does  mamma  like  Charlotte  better  than  she  likes  us  ?  " 
says  our  dear  and  justly  indignant  eldest  girl. 

"  I  could  not  love  her  better  if  I  were  her  mother-in-lmv,"  says 
Laura,  running  to  her  young  friend,  casting  a  glance  at  me  over  her 
shoulder ;  and  that  kissing  nonsense  begins  between  the  two  ladies. 
To  be  sure  the  girl  looks  uncommonly  bright  and  pretty  with  her 
pink  cheeks,  her  bright  eyes,  her  slim  form,  and  that  charming 
white  India  shawl  which  her  father  brought  home  for  her. 

To  this  osculatory  party  enters  presently  Mr.  Philip  Firmin, 
who  has  been  dawdling  about  the  ramparts  ever  since  breakfast. 
He  says  he  has  been  reading  law  there.  He  has  found  a  jolly  quiet 
place  to  read  law,  has  he  ?  And  much  good  may  it  do  him  !  Why 
has  he  not  gone  back  to  his  law  and  his  reviewing  ? 

"  You  must — you  imist  stay  on  a  little  longer.  You  have 
only  been  here  five  days.  Do,  Charlotte,  ask  Philip  to  stay  a 
little." 

All  the  children  sing  in  a  chorus,  "  Oh,  do.  Uncle  Philip,  stay 
a  little  longer !  "  Miss  Baynes  says,  "  I  hope  you  will  stay,  Mr. 
Firmin, '  and  looks  at  him. 

"  Five  days  has  he  been  here.  Five  years.  Five  lives.  Five 
hundred  years.  What  do  you  mean  ?  In  that  little  time  of — let 
me  see,  a  hundred  and  twenty  hours,  and,  at  least,  a  half  of  them 
for  sleep  and  dinner  (for  Philip's  appetite  was  very  fine) — do  you 
mean  that  in  that  little  time,  his  heart,  cruelly  stabbed  by  a  previous 
monster  in  female  shape,  has  healed,  got  quite  well,  and  actually 
begim  to  be  wounded  again  1  Have  two  walks  on  the  pier,  as  many 
visits  to  the  Tintelleries  (where  he  hears  the  story  of  the  Highlanders 
at  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  with  respectful  interest),  a  word  or  two 
about  the  weather,  a  look  or  two,  a  squeezekin,  perhaps,  of  a  little 
handykin — I  say,  do  you  mean  that  this  absurd  young  idiot,  and 
that  little  round-faced  girl,  pretty,  certainly,  but  only  just  out  of 
the  schoolroom — do  you  mean  to  say  that  they  have Upon  my 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     295 

word,  Laura,  tliis  is  too  bad.  Why,  Philip  has  not  a  penny  piece 
in  the  world." 

"  Yes,  he  has  a  hundred  pounds,  and  expects  to  sell  his  mare 
for  ninety  at  least.  He  has  excellent  talents.  He  can  easily  write 
three  articles  a  week  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  I  am  sure  no  one 
writes  so  well,  and  it  is  much  better  done  and  more  amusing  than 
it  used  to  be.  That  is  three  hundred  a  year.  Lord  Ringwood  must 
be  applied  to,  and  nuist  and  shall  get  him  something.  Don't  you 
know  that  Captain  Baynes  stood  l)y  Colonel  Ringwood's  side  at 
Busaco,  and  that  they  were  the  closest  friends  1  And  pray  how  did 
we  get  on,  I  should  like  to  know  1     How  did  we  get  on,  baby  1 " 

"How  did  we  det  on?"  says  the  baby. 

"  Oh,  woman  !  woman!"  yells  the  father  of  the  family.  "Why, 
Philij)  Firmin  has  all  the  habits  of  a  rich  man  with  the  pay  of  a 
mechanic.  Do  you  suppose  he  ever  sat  in  a  second-class  carriage  in 
his  life,  or  denied  himself  any  pleasure  to  which  he  had  a  mind  ? 
He  gave  five  francs  to  a  beggar-girl  yesterday." 

"  He  had  always  a  noble  heart,"  says  my  wife.  "  He  gave  a 
fortune  to  a  whole  family  a  week  ago  ;  and  "  (out  comes  the  pocket- 
handkerchief — oh,  of  course,  the  pocket-handkerchief) — "  and — '  God 
loves  a  cheerful  giver  ! '  " 

"  He  is  careless  ;  he  is  extravagant ;  he  is  lazy  ;— I  don't  know 
that  he  is  remarkably  clever " 

"  Oh  yes  !  he  is  your  friend,  of  course.  Now,  abuse  him — do, 
Arthur  ! " 

"  And,  pray,  when  did  you  become  acquainted  with  this  astound- 
ing ])iece  of  news  ?  "  I  inquire. 

"  When  ?  From  the  very  first  moment  when  I  saw  Charlotte 
looking  at  him,  to  be  sure.  The  poor  child  said  to  me  only  yester- 
day, '  Oh,  Laura !  he  is  our  preserver  ! '  And  their  preserver  he 
has  been,  under  Heaven." 

"  Yes.      But  he  has  not  got  a  five-pound  note  !  "  I  cry. 

"Arthur,  I  am  surprised  at  you.  Oh,  men  are  awfully  worldly  ! 
Do  you  suppose  Heaven  will  not  send  him  help  at  its  good  time, 
and  be  kind  to  him  who  has  rescued  so  many  from  ruin?  ])o  you 
suppose  the  j)rayers,  the  l)lessings  of  that  father,  of  those  little  ones, 
of  that  dear  child  will  not  avail  him  1  Su])j)ose  he  has  to  wait  a 
year,  ten  years — have  they  not  time,  and  will  not  tlie  good  day 
come  1 " 

Yes.  Tills  was  actually  the  talk  of  a  woman  of  sense  and  dis- 
cernment when  her  prejudices  and  romance  were  not  in  the  way, 
and  she  looked  forward  to  the  marriage  of  these  folks  some  ten 
years  hence,  as  confidently  as  if  they  were  both  rich,  and  goiug  to 
St.  George's  to-morrow. 


296  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

As  for  making  a  romantic  story  of  it,  or  spinning  out  love  con- 
versations between  Jenny  and  Jessamy,  or  describing  moonlight 
raptures  and  passionate  outpourings  of  two  young  hearts  and  so 
forth — excuse  me,  s'il  vous  j^lait.  I  am  a  man  of  the  world,  and 
of  a  certain  age.  Let  the  young  people  fill  in  this  outline,  and 
colour  it  as  they  please.  Let  the  old  folks  who  read  lay  down  the 
book  a  minute,  and  remember.  It  is  well  remembered,  isn't  it, 
that  time  1  Yes,  good  John  Anderson,  and  Mrs.  John.  Yes,  good 
Darby  and  Joan.  The  lips  won't  tell  now  what  they  did  once. 
To-day  is  for  the  happy,  and  to-morrow  for  the  young,  and  yester- 
day, is  not  that  dear  and  here  too  1 

I  was  in  the  company  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  not  very  long 
since,  who  was  perfectly  sober,  who  is  not  particularly  handsome, 
or  healthy,  or  wealthy,  or  witty ;  and  who,  speaking  of  his  past 
life,  volunteered  to  declare  that  he  would  gladly  live  every  minute 
of  it  over  again.  Is  a  man  who  can  say  that  a  hardened  sinner, 
not  aware  how  miserable  he  ought  to  be  by  rights,  and  therefore 
really  in  a  most  desperate  and  deplorable  condition ;  or  is  he 
fortunatus  nimium,  and  ought  his  statue  to  be  put  up  in  the  most 
splendid  and  crowded  thoroughfare  of  the  town  1  Would  you,  who 
are  reading  this,  for  example,  like  to  live  your  life  over  again? 
What  has  been  its  chief  joy  1  What  are  to-day's  pleasures  ?  Are 
they  so  exquisite  that  you  would  prolong  them  for  ever  ?  Would 
you  like  to  have  the  roast  beef  on  which  you  have  dined  brought 
back  again   to   table,  and   have  more  beef,  and   more,  and  more? 

Would  you  like  to  hear  yesterday's  sermon  over  and  over  again - 

eternally  voluble  ?  Would  you  like  to  get  on  the  Edinburgh  mail, 
and  travel  outside  for  fifty  hours  as  you  did  in  your  youth  1  You 
might  as  well  say  you  would  like  to  go  into  the  flogging-room,  and 
take  a  turn  under  the  rods  :  you  would  like  to  be  thrashed  over 
again  by  your  bully  at  school :  you  would  like  to  go  to  the 
dentist's,  where  your  dear  parents  were  in  the  habit  of  taking 
you :  you  would  like  to  be  taking  hot  Epsom  salts,  with  a  piece 
of  dry  bread  to  take  away  the  taste  :  you  would  like  to  be  jilted 
by  your  first  love  :  you  would  like  to  be  going  in  to  your  father 
to  tell  him  you  had  contracted  debts  to  the  amount  of  x  +  y  +  z, 
whilst  you  were  at  the  university.  As  I  consider  the  passionate 
griefs  of  childhood,  the  weariness  and  sameness  of  shaving,  the 
agony  of  corns,  and  the  thousand  other  ills  to  which  flesh  is  heir, 
I  cheerfully  say  for  one,  I  am  not  anxious  to  wear  it  for  ever.  No. 
I  do  not  want  to  go  to  school  again.  I  do  not  want  to  hear 
Trotman's  sermon  over  again.  Take  me  out  and  finish  me.  Give 
me  the  cup  of  hemlock  at  once.  Here's  a  health  to  you,  my  lads. 
Don't  weep,  my  Simmias.     Be  cheerful,  my  Phsedon.     Ha !  I  feel 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     297 

the  co-o-ol(l  stealing,  stealing  upwards.  Now  it  is  in  my  ankles — 
no  more  gout  in  my  foot :  now  my  knees  are  numb.  What,  is — is 
that  poor  executioner  crying  too  ?  Good-bye.  Sacritice  a  cock  to 
^scu — to  ^scula —  .  .  .  Have  you  ever  read  the  chapter  in 
"  Grote's  History  "1  Ah!  When  the  Sacred  Ship  returns  from 
Delos,  and  is  telegraphed  as  entering  into  port,  may  we  be  at  peace 
and  ready  ! 

What  is  this  funeral  chant,  when  the  pipes  should  be  playing 
gaily  as  Love,  and  Youth,  and  Spring,  and  Joy  are  dancing  under 
the  windows  1  Look  you.  Men  not  so  wise  as  Socrates  have  their 
demons,  who  will  be  heard  to  whisper  in  the  queerest  times  and 
places.  Perhaps  I  shall  have  to  tell  of  a  funeral  presently,  and 
shall  be  outrageously  cheerful  ;  or  of  an  execution,  and  shall  split 
my  sides  with  laughing.  Arrived  at  my  time  of  life,  when  I  see 
a  penniless  young  friend  falling  in  love  and  thinking  of  course  of 
committing  matrimony,  what  can  I  do  but  be  melancholy  ]  How 
is  a  man  to  marry  who  has  not  enough  to  keep  ever  so  miniature 
a  brougham — ever  so  small  a  house — not  enough  to  keep  himself, 
let  alone  a  wife  and  family  "?  Gracious  powers  !  is  it  not  blasphemy 
to  marry  without  fifteen  hundred  a  yearl  Poverty,  debt,  protested 
bills,  duns,  crime,  fall  assuredly  on  the  wretch  who  has  not  fifteen 
— say  at  once  two  thousand  a  year  ;  for  you  can't  live  decently  in 
London  for  less.  And  a  wife  whom  you  have  met  a  score  of  times 
at  balls  or  breakfasts,  and  with  her  best  dresses  and  behaviour  at 
a  country  house  ; — how  do  you  know  how  she  will  turn  out ;  what 
her  temper  is  ;  what  her  relations  are  likely  to  be  ?  Suppose  she 
has  poor  relations,  or  loud  coarse  brothers  who  are  always  drop])ing 
in  to  dinner  ?  What  is  her  motlier  like  1  and  can  you  bear  to  have 
that  woman  meddling  and  domineering  over  your  establishment  1 
Old  General  Baynes  was  very  well ;  a  weak,  quiet,  and  presentable 
old  man  :  but  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  and  that  awful  Mrs.  Major 
MacWhirter, — and  those  hobbledehoys  of  boys  in  creaking  shoes, 
hectoring  about  the  premises  1  As  a  man  of  the  world  I  saw  all 
these  dreadful  liabilities  impending  over  the  husband  of  Miss 
Charlotte  Baynes,  and  could  not  view  them  without  horror. 
Gracefully  and  slightly,  but  wittily  and  in  my  sarcastic  way,  I 
thought  it  my  duty  to  show  up  tlie  oddities  of  the  Baynes  family 
to  Philip.  I  mimicked  the  boys,  and  their  clumping  blucher-boots. 
I  touched  uti"  the  dreadful  military  ladies,  very  smartly  and  cleverly 
as  I  thought,  and  as  if  I  never  supposed  that  Philip  had  any  idea 
of  Miss  Baynes.  To  do  him  justice,  he  laughed  once  or  twice ; 
then  he  grew  very  red.  His  sense  of  humour  is  very  limited ; 
that  even  Laura  allows.  Then  he  came  out  Avith  a  strong  expres- 
sion, and  said  it  was  a    confounded    shame,  and  strode  off  with 


298  THE    ADVENTURES    OF  PHILIP 

his  cigar.  And  when  I  remarked  to  my  wife  how  susceptible  he 
was  in  some  things,  and  how  Httle  in  the  matter  of  joking,  she 
shrugged  her  shoulders  and  said,  "  Philip  not  only  understood 
perfectly  well  what  I  said,  but  would  tell  it  all  to  Mrs.  General 
and  Mrs.  Major  on  the  first  opportunity."  And  this  was  the  fact, 
as  Mrs.  Baynes  took  care  to  tell  me  afterwards.  She  was  aware 
who  was  her  enemy.  She  was  aware  who  spoke  ill  of  her  and 
her  blessed  darling  behind  our  backs.  And  "do  you  think  it  was 
to  see  you  or  any  one  belonging  to  your  stuck-uj)  house,  sir,  that  we 
came  to  you  so  often,  which  we  certainly  did,  day  and  night,  break- 
fast and  supper,  and  no  thanks  to  you  ?  No,  sir !  ha,  ha ! "  I 
can  see  her  flaunting  out  of  my  sitting-room  as  she  speaks,  with  a 
strident  laugh,  and  snapping  her  dingily  gloved  fingers  at  the  door. 
Oh,  Philip,  Philip  !  To  think  that  you  were  such  a  coward  as  to 
go  and  tell  her !  But  I  pardon  him.  From  my  heart  I  pity  and 
pardon  him. 

For  the  step  which  he  is  meditating  you  may  be  sure  that  the 
young  man  himself  does  not  feel  the  smallest  need  of  pardon  or 
pity.  He  is  in  a  state  of  happiness  so  crazy  that  it  is  useless  to 
reason  with  him.  Not  being  at  all  of  a  poetical  turn  originally, 
the  wretch  is  actually  perpetrating  verse  in  secret,  and  my  servants 
found  fragments  of  his  manuscript  on  the  dressing-table  in  his  bed- 
room. Heart  and  art,  sever  and  for  ever,  and  sa  on ;  what  stale 
rhymes  are  these  1  I  do  not  feel  at  liberty  to  give  in  entire  the 
poem  which  our  maid  found  in  Mr.  Philip's  room,  and  brought 
sniggering  to  my  wife,  who  only  said,  "  Poor  thing  ! "  The  fact  is, 
it  was  too  pitiable.  Such  maundering  rubbish  !  Such  stale  rhymes, 
and  such  old  thouglits !  But  then,  says  Laura,  "  I  daresay  all 
people's  love-making  is  not  amusing  to  their  neighbours ;  and  I 
know  who  wrote  not  very  wise  love-verses  when  he  was  young." 
No,  I  won't  publish  Philip's  verses,  until  some  day  he  shall  mortally 
offend  me.  I  can  recall  some  of  my  own  written  under  similar 
circumstances  with  twinges  of  shame ;  and  shall  drop  a  veil  of 
decent  friendship  over  my  friend's  folly. 

Under  that  veil,  meanwhile,  the  young  man  is  perfectly  con- 
tented, nay,  uproariously  happy.  All  earth  and  nature  smiles  round 
about  him.  "  When  Jove  meets  his  Juno,  in  Homer,  sir,"  says 
Philip,  in  his  hectoring  way,  "  don't  immortal  flowers  of  beauty 
spring  up  around  them,  and  rainbows  of  celestial  hues  bend  over 
their  heads  1  Love,  sir,  flings  a  halo  round  the  loved  one.  Where 
she  moves  rise  roses,  hyacinths,  and  ambrosial  odours.  Don't  talk 
to  me  about  poverty,  sir  !  He  either  fears  his  fate  too  much,  or 
his  desert  is  small,  who  dares  not  put  it  to  the  touch  and  win  or 
lose  it  all !     Haven't  I  endured  poverty  ]     Am  I  not  as  poor  now 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      299 

as  a  man  can  be — and  what  is  there  in  if?  Do  I  want  ft)r  any- 
thing*? Haven't  I  got  a  guinea  in  my  pocket?  Do  I  owe  any  man 
anything]  Isn't  tliere  manna  in  the  wilderness  for  tliose  who  have 
faith  to  walk  in  it  1  That's  where  you  fail,  Pen.  By  all  that  is 
sacred,  you  have  no  faith  :  your  heart  is  cowardly,  sir ;  and  if  you 
are  to  escape,  as  perhaps  you  may,  I  suspect  it  is  by  your  wife  that 
you  will  be  saved.  Laura  has  a  trust  in  Heaven,  but  Arthur's 
morals  are  a  genteel  atheism.  Just  reach  me  that  claret — the 
wine's  not  bad.  I  say  your  morals  are  a  genteel  atheism,  and  I 
shudder  when  I  think  of  your  condition.  Talk  to  me  about  a 
brougham  being  necessary  for  the  comfort  of  a  woman  !  A  broom- 
stick to  ride  to  the  moon !  And  I  don't  say  that  a  brougham  is 
not  a  comfort,  mind  you ;  but  that,  when  it  is  a  necessity,  mark 
you.  Heaven  will  provide  it !  Why,  sir,  hang  it,  look  at  me  !  Ain't 
I  suffering  in  the  most  abject  poverty  !  I  ask  you  is  there  a  man 
in  London  so  poor  as  I  am  1  And  since  my  father's  ruin  do  I  want 
for  anything  ?  I  want  for  shelter  for  a  day  or  two.  Good.  There's 
my  dear  Little  Sister  ready  to  give  it  me.  I  want  for  money. 
Does  not  that  sainted  widow's  cruse  pour  its  oil  out  for  me  ■? 
Heaven  bless  and  reward  her.  Boo  ! "  (Here,  for  reasons  which 
need  not  be  named,  the  orator  squeezes  his  fists  into  his  eyes.)  "  I 
want  shelter :  ain't  I  in  good  quarters  1  I  want  work  :  haven't  I 
got  work,  and  did  you  not  get  it  for  me "?  You  should  just  see,  sir, 
how  I  polished  off'  tliat  book  of  travels  this  morning.     I  read  some 

of  the  article  to  Char ,  to  Miss ,  to  some  friends,  in  fact. 

I  don't  mean  to  say  that  they  are  very  intellectual  people,  but  your 
common  humdrum  average  audience  is  tlie  public  to  try.  Recollect 
Molifere  and  his  housekeeper,  you  know." 

"  By  the  housekeeper,  do  you  mean  Mrs.  Baynes  1 "  I  ask,  in 
my  amontillado  manner.  (By  the  way,  who  ever  heard  of  amon- 
tillado  in  the  early  days  of  which  I  write  1)  "  In  manner  she 
would  do,  and  I  daresay  in  accomplishments;  but  I  doubt  al)iiut 
her  temper." 

"You're  almost  as  worldly  as  the  Twysdens,  by  George,  you 
are  !  Unless  persons  are  of  a  certain  monde,  you  don't  value  them. 
A  little  adversity  would  do  you  good,  Pen  ;  and  I  heartily  wish  you 
niiglit  get  it,  except  for  the  dear  wife  and  children.  You  measure 
your  morality  by  Mayfair  standards  ;  and  if  an  angel  unawares  came 
to  you  in  pattens  and  a  cotton  umbrella,  you  would  turn  away  from 
her.  You  would  never  have  found  out  the  Little  Sister.  A  duchess 
— God  l)less  her  !  A  creature  of  an  imjieriid  generosity,  and  delicacy, 
and  intrepidity,  and  the  finest  sense  of  humour  ;  but  she  drops  her 
/i's  often,  and  how  could  you  jianlon  such  a  crime?  Sir,  you  are 
my  better  in  wit  and  a  dexterous  application  of  your  powers ;  but  I 


300 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 


think,  sir,"  says  Phil,  curling  the  flaming  moustache,  "  I  am  your 
superior  in  a  certain  magnanimity ;  though,  by  Jove,  old  fellow, 
man  and  boy  you  have  always  been  one  of  the  best  fellows  in  the 
world  to  P.  F. ;  one  of  the  best  fellows,  and  the  most  generous,  and 
the  most  cordial, — that  you  have  :  only  you  do  rile  me  when  you 
sing  in  that  confounded  Mayfair  twang." 

Here  one  of  the  children  summoned  us  to  tea — and  "  Papa  was 
laughing,  and  Uncle  Philip  was  flinging  his  hands  about  and  pulling 
his  beard  off","  said  the  little  messenger. 

"I  shall  keep  a  fine  lock  of  it  for  you,  Nelly  my  dear,"  says 
Uncle  Pliilip.  On  which  the  child  said,  "  Oh  no  !  I  know  whom 
you'll  give  it  to,  don't  I,  mammal  "  and  she  goes  up  to  her  mamma, 
and  whispers. 

Miss  Nelly  knows  %  At  what  age  do  those  little  match-makers 
begin  to  know,  and  how  soon  do  they  practise  the  use  of  their  young 
eyes,  their  little  smiles,  wiles,  and  ogles'?  This  young  woman,  I 
believe,  coquetted  whilst  she  was  yet  a  baby  in  arms,  over  her 
nurse's  shoulder.  Before  she  could  speak  she  could  be  proud  of  her 
new  vermilion  shoes,  and  would  point  out  the  charms  of  her  blue 
sash.  She  was  jealous  in  the  nursery,  and  her  little  heart  had  beat 
for  years  and  years  before  she  left  off"  pinafores. 

For  whom  will  Philip  keep  a  lock  of  that  red  red  gold  which 
curls  round  his  face  %  Can  you  guess  %  Of  what  colour  is  the  hair 
in  that  little  locket  which  the  gentleman  himself  occultly  wears? 
A  few  months  ago,  I  believe,  a  pale  straw-coloured  wisp  of  hair 
occupied  that  place  of  honour ;  now  it  is  a  chestnut  brown,  as  far  as 
I  can  see,  of  precisely  the  same  colour  as  that  which  waves  round 
Charlotte  Baynes's  pretty  face,  and  tumbles  in  clusters  on  her  neck, 
very  nearly  the  colour  of  Mrs.  Paynter's  this  last  season.  So,  you 
see,  we  chop  and  we  change :  straw  gives  place  to  chestnut,  and 
chestnut  is  succeeded  by  ebony ;  and,  for  our  own  parts,  we  defy 
time  ;  and  if  you  want  a  lock  of  my  hair,  Belinda,  take  this  pair  of 
scissors  and  look  in  that  cupboard,  in  the  bandbox  marked  No.  3, 
and  cut  off"  a  thick  glossy  piece,  darling,  and  wear  it,  dear,  and  my 
blessings  go  with  thee  !  Wiiat  is  this  %  Am  I  sneering  because 
Corydon  and  Phyllis  are  wooing  and  happy?  You  see  I  pledged 
myself  not  to  have  any  sentimental  nonsense.  To  describe  love- 
making  is  immoral  and  immodest ;  you  know  it  is.  To  describe  it 
as  it  really  is,  or  would  appear  to  you  and  me  as  lookers-on,  would 
be  to  describe  the  most  dreary  farce,  to  chronicle  the  most  tauto- 
logical twaddle.  To  take  a  note  of  sighs,  hand-squeezes,  looks  at 
the  moon,  and  so  forth — does  this  business  become  our  dignity  as 
historians?  Come  away  from  those  foolish  young  people — they 
don't  want  us ;  and  dreary  as  their  farce  is,  and  tautological  as  their 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     301 

twaddle,  you  may  be  sure  it  amuses  them,  and  that  they  are  happy 
enough  without  us.  Happy  1  Is  there  any  happiness  like  it,  pray  1 
Was  it  not  rapture  to  watch  the  messenger,  to  seize  the  note,  and 
fee  the  bearer  1 — to  retire  out  of  sight  of  all  prying  eyes  and  read  : 
— "  Dearest !  mamma's  cold  is  better  this  morning.  The  Joneses 
came  to  tea,  ami  Julia  sang.  I  did  not  enjoy  it,  as  my  dear  was  at 
his  horrid  dinner,  where  I  hope  he  anuised  himself.  Send  me  a 
word  by  Buttles,  who  brings  this,  if  only  to  say  you  are  your  Louisa's 
own  own,"  &c.  &c.  &c.  That  used  to  be  the  kind  of  thing.  In 
such  coy  lines  artless  Innocence  used  to  whis])er  its  little  vows.  So 
she  used  to  smile ;  so  she  used  to  warble ;  so  she  used  to  prattle. 
Young  people,  at  present  engaged  in  the  pretty  sport,  be  assured 
your  middle-aged  parents  have  played  the  game,  and  remember  the 
rules  of  it.  Yes,  under  papa's  bow-window  of  a  waistcoat  is  a  heart 
which  took  very  violent  exercise  when  that  waist  was  slim.  Now 
he  sits  tranquilly  in  his  tent,  and  watches  the  lads  going  in  for  their 
innings.  Why,  look  at  grandmamma  in  her  spectacles  reading  that 
sermon.  In  her  old  heart  there  is  a  corner  as  romantic  still  as 
when  she  used  to  read  the  "  Wild  Irish  Girl "  or  the  "  Scottish 
Chiefs  "  in  the  days  of  her  misshood.  And  as  for  your  grandfather, 
my  dears,  to  see  him  now  you  would  little  suppose  that  that  calm 
polished  dear  old  gentleman  was  once  as  wild — as  wild  as  Orson. 
.  .  .  Under  my  windows,  as  I  write,  there  passes  an  itinerant  flower 
merchant.  He  has  his  roses  and  geraniums  on  a  cart  drawn  by  a 
quadruped — a  Irttle  long-eared  quadruped,  which  lifts  up  its  voice 
and  sings  after  its  manner.  When  I  was  young,  donkeys  used  to 
bray  precisely  in  the  same  way  ;  and  others  will  heehaw  so  when 
we  are  silent  and  our  ears  hear  no  more. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DRUM  ISrS  so   WOHL  MIR  IN  DER   (FELT 

OUR  new  friends  lived  for  a  while  contentedly  enough  at 
Boulogne,  where  they  found  comrades  and  acquaintances 
gathered  together  from  those  many  regions  which  they  had 
visited  in  the  course  of  their  military  career.  Mrs.  Baynes,  out  of 
the  field,  was  the  commanding  officer  over  the  General.  She  ordered 
his  clothes  for  him,  tied  his  neck-cloth  into  a  neat  bow,  and,  on  tea- 
party  evenings,  pinned  his  brooch  into  his  shirt-frill.  She  gave  him 
to  understand  when  he  had  had  enough  to  eat  or  drink  at  dinner, 
and  explained,  with  great  frankness,  how  this  or  that  dish  did  not 
agree  with  him.  If  he  was  disposed  to  exceed,  she  would  call  out 
in  a  loud  voice  :  "  Remember,  General,  what  you  took  this  morning  !  " 
Knowing  his  constitution,  as  she  said,  she  knew  the  remedies  which 
were  necessary  for  her  husband,  and  administered  them  to  him  with 
great  liberality.  Resistance  was  impossible,  as  the  veteran  officer 
acknowledged.  "  The  boys  have  fought  about  the  medicine  since 
we  came  home,"  he  confessed,  "but  she  has  me  under  her  thumb, 
by  George  !  She  really  is  a  magnificent  physician,  now.  She  has 
got  some  invaluable  prescriptions,  and  in  India  she  used  to  doctor 
the  whole  station."  She  would  have  taken  the  present  writer's  little 
household  under  her  care,  and  proposed  several  remedies  for  my 
children,  until  their  alarmed  mother  was  obliged  to  keep  them  out 
of  her  sight.  I  am  not  saying  this  was  an  agreeable  woman.  Her 
voice  was  loud  and  harsh.  The  anecdotes  which  she  was  for  ever 
narrating  related  to  military  personages  in  foreign  countries  with 
whom  I  was  unacquainted,  and  whose  history  failed  to  interest  me. 
She  took  her  wine  with  much  spirit,  whilst  engaged  in  this  prattle. 
I  have  heard  talk  not  less  foolish  in  much  finer  company,  and  known 
people  delighted  to  listen  to  anecdotes  of  the  duchess  and  the 
marchioness  who  would  yawn  over  the  history  of  Captain  Jones's 
quarrels  with  his  lady,  or  Mrs.  Major  Wolfe's  monstrous  flirtations 
with  young  Ensign  Kyd.  My  wife,  with  the  mischievousness  of 
her  sex,  would  mimic  the  Baynes's  conversation  very  drolly,  but 
always  insisted  that  she  was  not  more  really  vulgar  than  many 
much  greater  persons. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     303 

For  all  this,  Mrs.  General  Baynes  did  not  hesitate  to  declare 
that  we  were  "  stuck-up  "  people ;  and  from  the  very  first  setting 
eyes  on  us  she  declared  that  she  viewed  us  with  a  constant  darkling 
suspicion.  Mrs.  P.  was  a  harmless  washed-out  creature,  with 
nothing  in  her.  As  for  that  high  and  mighty  Mr.  P.  and  his  airs, 
she  would  be  glad  to  know  whether  the  wife  of  a  British  general 
officer  who  had  seen  service  in  every  part  of  the  (jlobe^  and  met  the 
nio&t  distinguished  governors,  generals,  and  their  ladies,  several  of 
whom  tvere  noblemen — she  would  be  glad  to  know  whether  such 
people  were  not  good  enough  for,  &c.  &c.  Who  has  not  met  Avith 
these  difficulties  in  life,  and  who  can  escape  them  1  "  Hang  it,  sir," 
Phil  would  say,  twirling  the  red  moustache,  "I  like  to  be  hated  by 
some  fellows ; "  and  it  must  be  owned  that  Philip  got  what  he 
liked.  I  sujjpo.se  Mr.  Philip's  friend  and  biographer  had  something 
of  the  same  feeling.  At  any  rate,  in  regard  of  this  lady  the 
hypocrisy  of  politeness  was  very  hard  to  keep  up ;  wanting  us  for 
reasons  of  her  own,  she  covered  the  dagger  with  which  she  would 
have  stabbed  us  :  but  we  knew  it  was  there  clenched  in  her  skinny 
hand  in  her  meagre  pocket.  She  would  pay  us  the  most  fulsome 
compliments  with  anger  raging  out  of  her  eyes — a  little  hate-bearing 
woman,  envious,  malicious,  but  loving  her  cubs,  ami  nursing  them, 
and  clutching  them  in  her  lean  arms  with  a  jealous  strain.  It  was 
"  Good-bye  !  darling,  I  shall  leave  you  here  with  your  friends.  Oh, 
how  kind  you  are  to  her,  Mrs.  Pendennis  !  How  can  I  ever  thank 
you,  and  Mr.  P.,  I  am  sure  ;  "  and  she  looked  as  if  she  could  poison 
both  of  us,  as  she  went  away,  curtseying  and  darting  dreary  parting 
smiles. 

This  lady  had  an  intimate  friend  and  companion  in  arms,  Mrs. 
Colonel  Bunch,  in  fact,  of  the  — th  Bengal  Cavalry,  who  was  now  in 
Europe  with  Bunch  and  their  (children,  who  were  residing  at  Paris 
for  the  young  folks'  education.  At  first,  as  we  have  heard,  Mrs. 
Baynes's  predilections  had  been  all  for  Tours,  where  her  sister  was 
living,  and  where  lodgings  were  cheap  and  food  reasonalile  in  ]>ro- 
portion.  But  Bunch  ha])pening  to  pass  through  Boulogne  on  his 
way  to  his  wife  at  Paris,  and  meeting  his  old  comrade,  gave  GeniTal 
Baynes  such  an  account  of  the  cheapness  and  pleasures  of  the 
French  ca])ital,  as  to  induce  the  General  to  think  of  l)ending  his 
steps  thitlier.  Mrs.  Baynes  would  not  hear  of  such  a  plan.  She 
was  all  for  her  dear  sister  and  Tours ;  but  when,  in  the  course  of 
conversation,  Colonel  Bunch  described  a  ball  at  the  Tuileries,  where 
he  and  Mrs.  B.  had  1)een  received  with  the  most  flattering  politeness 
by  the  Royal  family,  it  was  remarked  that  Mrs.  Baynes's  mind 
underwent  a  change.  When  Bunch  went  on  to  aver  that  the  balls 
at  Government  House  at  Calcutta  were  nothing  compared  to  those 


304  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

at  the  Tuileries  or  the  Prefecture  of  the  Seine ;  that  the  English 
were  invited  and  respected  everywhere ;  that  the  Ambassador  was 
most  hospitable ;  that  the  clergymen  were  admirable ;  and  that  at 
their  boarding-house,  kept  by  Madame  la  Gdn^rale  Baronne  de 
Smolensk,  at  the  "  Petit  Chateau  d'Espagne,"  Avenue  de  Valmy, 
Champs  Elysdes,  they  had  balls  twice  a  month,  the  most  comfort- 
able apartments,  the  most  choice  society,  and  every  comfort  and 
luxury  at  so  many  francs  per  month,  with  an  allowance  for  children 
— I  say  Mrs.  Baynes  was  very  greatly  moved.  "  It  is  not,"  she 
said,  "in  consequence  of  the  balls  at  the  Ambassador's  or  the 
Tuileries,  for  I  am  an  old  woman  ;  and  in  spite  of  what  you  say, 
Colonel,  I  can't  fancy,  after  Government  House,  anything  more 
magnificent  in  any  French  palace.  It  is  not  for  «ie,  goodness 
knows,  I  speak  :  but  the  children  should  have  education,  and  my 
Charlotte   an   entree   into   the   world ;   and   what   you   say   of  the 

invaluable  clergyman,  Mr.  X ,  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  all 

night ;  but  above  all,  above  all,  of  the  chances  of  education  for  my 
darlings.  Nothing  should  give  way  to  that — nothing  !  "  On  this 
a  long  and  delightful  conversation  and  calculation  took  place. 
Bunch  produced  his  bills  at  the  Baroness  de  Smolensk's.  The  two 
gentlemen  jotted  up  accounts,  and  made  calculations  all  through 
the  evening.  It  was  hard  even  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to  force  the 
figures  into  such  a  shape  as  to  make  them  accord  with  the  General's 
income  ;  but,  driven  away  by  one  calculation  after  another,  she 
returned  again  and  again  to  the  charge,  until  slie  overcame  the 
stubborn  arithmetical  difficulties,  and  the  pounds,  shillings,  and 
pence  lay  prostrate  before  her.  They  could  save  upon  this  point ; 
they  could  screw  upon  that ;  they  must  make  a  sacrifice  to  educate 
the  children.  "  Sarah  Bunch  and  her  girls  go  to  Court,  indeed  ! 
Why  shouldn't  mine  go  ?  "  she  asked.  On  which  her  General  said, 
"  By  George,  Eliza,  that's  the  point  you  are  thinking  of."  On 
which  Eliza  said,  "No,"  and  repeated  "No"  a  score  of  times, 
growing  more  angry  as  she  uttered  each  denial.  And  she  declared 
before  Heaven  she  did  not  want  to  go  to  any  Court.  Had  she  not 
refused  to  be  presented  at  home,  though  Mrs.  Colonel  Flack  went, 
because  she  did  not  choose  to  go  to  the  wicked  expense  of  a  train  ? 
And  it  was  base  of  the  General,  base  and  mean  of  him  to  say  so. 
And  there  was  a  fine  scene,  as  I  am  given  to  understand  :  not  that 
I  was  present  at  this  family  figlit :  but  my  informant  was  Mr. 
Firmin  ;  and  Mr.  Firmin  had  his  information  from  a  little  person 
who,  about  this  time,  had  got  to  prattle  out  all  the  secrets  of  her 
young  heart  to  him  ;  who  would  have  jumped  off  the  pier-head 
with  her  hand  in  his  if  he  had  said  "  Come,"  without  his  hand  if  he 
said  "  Go  "  :  a  little  person  whose  whole  life  had  been  changed — 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      305 

changed  for  a  mouth  past — changed  in  one  minute,  tliat  minute 
when  she  saw  Philip's  fiery  whiskers  and  heard  his  great  big  voice 
sakiting  her  father  amongst  the  commissioners  on  the  q^lai  before 
the  Custom-house. 

Tours  was,  at  any  rate,  a  hunch-ed  and  fifty  miles  farther  off 
than  Paris  from — from  a  city  where  a  young  gentleman  lived  in 
whom  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes  felt  an  interest;  hence,  I  suppose, 
arose  her  delight  that  her  j)arents  had  determined  upon  taking  up 
their  residence  in  the  larger  and  nearer  city.  Besides,  she  owned, 
in  the  course  of  her  artless  confidences  to  my  wife,  that,  when 
together,  mamma  and  Aunt  MacWhirter  quarrelled  unceasingly ; 
and  had  once  caused  the  old  boys,  the  Major  and  the  General, 
to  call  each  other  out.  She  preferred,  then,  to  live  away  from 
Aunt  Mac.  She  had  never  had  such  a  friend  as  Laura,  never. 
She  had  never  been  so  happy  as  at  Boulogne,  never.  She  shoidd 
always  love  everybody  in  our  house,  that  she  should,  for  ever  and 
ever — and  so  forth  and  so  forth.  The  ladies  meet ;  cling  together  ; 
osculations  are  carried  rmuid  the  whole  family  circle,  from  our 
wondering  eldest  boy,  who  cries,  "  I  say,  hullo !  Avhat  are  you 
kissing  me  so  about  1 "  to  darling  baby,  crowing  and  sputtering 
unconscious  in  the  rapturous  young  girl's  embraces.  I  tell  you, 
these  two  women  were  making  fools  of  themselves,  and  they  Avere 
burning  Avith  enthusiasm  for  the  "  preserver"  of  the  Baynes  family, 
as  they  called  that  big  fellow  yonder,  Avhose  biographer  I  have 
aspired  to  be.  The  lazy  rogue  lay  basking  in  the  glorious  warmth 
and  sunshine  of  early  love.  He  would  stretch  his  big  limbs  out 
in  our  garden  ;  pour  out  his  feelings  with  endless  volubility ;  call 
upon  hoyninum  divnmque  volupfas,  alma  Venus ;  vow  that  he 
had  never  lived  or  been  happy  until  now ;  declare  that  he  laughed 
poverty  to  scorn  and  all  her  ills;  and  fume  against  his  masters 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  because  they  declined  to  insert  certain 
love  verses  which  Mr.  Philip  now  composed  almost  every  day. 
Poor  little  Charlotte !  And  didst  thou  receive  those  treasures  of 
song  ;  and  wonder  over  them,  not  perhaps  comprehcndintj  them 
altogether  ;  and  lock  them  up  in  tlij'  heart's  inmost  casket  as  well 
as  in  thy  little  desk  ;  and  take  them  out  in  quiet  hours,  and  kiss 
them,  and  bless  Heaven  for  giving  thee  such  jewels?  I  daresay, 
I  can  fancy  all  this,  without  seeing  it.  I  can  read  the  little  letters 
in  the  little  desk,  without  picking  lock  or  breaking  seal.  Poor 
little  letters  !  Sometimes  they  are  not  spelt  right,  quite  ;  but  I 
don't  know  that  the  style  is  worse  for  that.  Poor  little  letters  ! 
You  are  flung  to  the  winds  sometimes  and  forgotten  with  all  your 
sweet  secrets  and  loving  artless  confessions ;  but  not  always — no, 
not  always.     As   for   Philip,  who  was  the  most  careless  creature 


306  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

alive,  and  left  all  lii.s  clothes  and  liaberdashery  sprawling  on  his 
bedroom  floor,  he  had  at  this  time  a  breast-pocket  stuffed  out  with 
papers  which  crackled  in  the  most  ridiculous  way.  He  was  always 
looking  down  at  this  j^recious  pocket,  and  putting  one  of  his  great 
hands  over  it  as  though  he  would  guard  it.  The  pocket  did  not 
contain  bank-notes,  you  may  be  sure  of  that.  It  contained  docu- 
ments stating  that  mamma's  cold  is  better;  the  Joneses  came  to 
tea,  and  Julia  sang,  &c.  Ah,  friend,  however  old  you  are  now, 
however  cold  you  are  now,  however  tough,  I  hope  you,  too, 
remember  how  Julia  sang,  and  the  Joneses  came  to  tea. 

Mr.  Philip  stayed  on  week  after  week,  declaring  to  my  wife 
that  she  was  a  perfect  angel  for  keeping  him  so  long.  Bunch  wrote 
from  his  boarding-house  more  and  more  enthusiastic  reports  about 
the  comforts  of  the  establishment.  For  his  sake,  Madame  la 
Baronne  de  Smolensk  would  make  unheard-of  sacrifices,  in  order 
to  accommodate  the  General  and  his  distinguished  party.  The 
balls  were  going  to  be  perfectly  splendid  that  winter.  There  were 
several  old  Indians  living  near ;  in  feet  they  could  form  a  regular 
little  club.  It  was  agreed  that  Baynes  should  go  and  reconnoitre 
the  ground.  He  did  go.  Madame  de  Smolensk,  a  most  elegant 
woman,  had  a  magnificent  dinner  for  him — quite  splendid,  I  give 
you  my  word,  but  only  what  they  have  every  day.  Soup,  of 
course,  my  love ;  fish,  capital  wine,  and,  I  should  say,  some  five 
or  six-and-thirty  made  dishes.  The  General  was  quite  enraptured. 
Bunch  had  piit  his  boys  to  a  famous  school,  where  they  might 
"  whop "  the  French  boys,  and  learn  all  the  modern  languages. 
The  little  ones  would  dine  early  ;  the  Baroness  would  take  the 
whole  family  at  an  astonishingly  cheap  rate.  In  a  word,  the 
Baynes's  column  got  tlie  route  for  Paris  shortly  before  our  family- 
party  was  crossing  the  seas  to  return  to  London  fogs  and  duty. 

You  have,  no  doubt,  remarked  how,  under  certain  tender 
circumstances,  women  will  help  one  another.  They  help  where 
they  ought  not  to  help.  When  Mr.  Darby  ought  to  be  separated 
from  Miss  Joan,  and  the  best  thing  that  could  happen  for  both 
would  be  a  lettre  de  cachet  to  whip  off  M.  Darby  to  the  Bastile 
for  five  years,  and  an  order  from  her  parents  to  lock  up  Made- 
moiselle Jeanne  in  a  convent,  some  aunt,  some  relative,  some 
pitying  female  friend  is  sure  to  be  found,  who  will  give  the  pair  a 
chance  of  meeting,  and  turn  her  head  away  whilst  those  unhappy 
lovers  are  warbling  endless  good-byes  close  up  to  each  other's  ears. 
My  wife,  I  have  said,  chose  to  feel  this  absurd  sympathy  for  the 
young  people  about  whom  we  have  been  just  talking.  As  the 
days  for  Charlotte's  departure  drew  near,  this  wretched  misguiding 
matron  would  take  the  girl  out  walking  into  I  know  not  what 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     307 

unfrequented  bye-lanes,  quiet  streets,  rampart-nooks,  and  the  like ; 
and  la!  by  the  most  singular  coincidence,  Mr.  Philip's  hulking 
boots  would  assuredly  come  tramping  after  the  women's  little  feet. 
What  will  you  say,  when  I  tell  you,  that  I  myself,  the  father  of 
the  family,  the  renter  of  the  old-fashioned  house.  Rue  Roucoule, 
Haute  Ville,  Boulogne-sur-Mer— as  I  am  going  into  my  own  study 
— am  met  at  the  threshold  by  Helen,  my  eldest  daughter,  who 
puts  her  little  arms  before  the  glass  door  at  which  I  was  about  to 
enter,  and  says,  "  You  must  not  go  in  there,  papa !  mamma  says 
we  none  of  us  are  to  go  in  there." 

"  And  why,  pray '? "  I  ask. 

"  Because  Uncle  Philip  and  Charlotte  are  talking  cecrets  there  ; 
and  nobody  is  to  disturb  them — nobody  I  " 

Upon  my  word,  wasn't  this  too  monstrous  1  Am  I  Sir  Pandarus 
of  Troy  become  1  Am  I  going  to  allow  a  penniless  young  man  to 
steal  away  the  heart  of  a  young  girl  who  has  not  twopence-halfpenny 
to  her  fortune  1  Shall  I,  I  say,  lend  myself  to  this  most  unjustifiable 
intrigue  1 

"  Sir,"  says  my  wife  (we  happened  to  have  been  bred  up  from 
childhood  together,  and  I  own  to  have  had  one  or  two  foolish  initia- 
tory flirtations  before  I  settled  down  to  matrimonial  fidelity) — 
"  Sir,"  says  she,  "  when  you  were  so  wild — so  spoony,  I  think  is 
your  elegant  word — about  Blanche,  and  used  to  put  letters  into  a 
hollow  tree  for  her  at  home,  I  used  to  see  the  letters,  and  I  never 
disturbed  them.  These  two  people  have  much  warmer  hearts, 
and  are  a  great  deal  fonder  of  each  other,  than  you  and  Blanche 
used  to  be.  I  should  not  like  to  separate  Charlotte  from  Philip 
now.  It  is  too  late,  sir.  She  can  never  like  anybody  else  as  she 
likes  him.  If  she  lives  to  be  a  hundred,  she  will  never  forget  him. 
Why  should  not  the  poor  thing  be  happy  a  little,  while  she  mayr' 

An  old  house,  with  a  green  old  courtyard  and  an  ancient  mossy 
wall,  througii  breaks  of  which  I  can  see  the  roofs  and  gables  of  the 
quaint  old  town,  the  city  below,  the  shining  sea,  and  the  white 
English  cliffs  beyond ;  a  green  old  courtyard,  and  a  tall  old  stone 
house  rising  up  in  it,  grown  over  with  many  a  creeper  on  which  the 
sun  casts  fiickering  shadows ;  and  under  the  shadows,  and  through 
the  glass  of  a  tall  grey  window,  I  can  just  peep  into  a  brown  twilight 
parlour,  and  there  I  see  two  hazy  figures  by  a  table.  One  slim 
figure  lias  brown  hair,  and  one  has  flame-coloured  whiskers.  Look, 
a  ray  of  sunshine  has  just  peered  into  the  room,  and  is  lighting  the 
whiskers  up  ! 

"  Poor  little  thing  !  "  whispers  my  wife  very  gently.  "  They  are 
going  away  to-morrow.  Let  them  have  their  talk  out.  She  is 
crying  her  little  eyes  out,  I  am  sure.     Poor  little  Charlotte  ! " 


308  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

AVhilst  my  wife  was  pitying  Miss  Charlotte  in  this  pathetic 
way,  and  was  going,  I  daresay,  to  have  recourse  to  her  own  pocket- 
handkerchief,  as  I  live  there  came  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the 
darkling  chamber  where  the  two  lovers  were  billing  and  cooing. 
First  came  Mr.  Philip's  great  boom  (such  a  roar — such  a  haw-haw, 
or  hee-haw,  I  never  heard  any  other  ^?*o-legged  animal  perform). 
Then  follows  Miss  Charlotte's  tinkling  peal ;  and  presently  that 
young  person  comes  out  into  the  garden,  with  her  round  face  not 
bedewed  with  tears  at  all,  but  perfectly  rosy,  fresh,  dimpled,  and 
good-humoured.  Charlotte  gives  me  a  little  curtsey,  and  my  wife 
a  hand  and  a  kind  glance.  They  retreat  through  the  open  casement, 
twining  round  each  other,  as  the  vine  does  round  the  window ; 
though  which  is  the  vine  and  which  is  the  window  in  this  simile,  I 
pretend  not  to  say — I  can't  see  through  either  of  them,  that  is  the 
truth.  They  pass  through  the  parlour,  and  into  the  street  beyond, 
do'ubtless ;  and  as  for  Mr.  Philip,  I  presently  see  his  liead  popped 
out  of  his  window  in  the  upper  floor  with  his  great  pipe  in  his 
mouth.  He  can't  "  work  "  without  his  pipe,  he  says ;  and  my  wife 
believes  him.     Work  indeed  ! 

Miss  Charlotte  paid  us  another  little  visit  that  evening,  when 
we  happened  to  be  alone.  The  children  were  gone  to  bed.  The 
darlings  !  Charlotte  inust  go  up  and  kiss  them.  Mr.  Philip  Firmin 
was  out.  She  did  not  seem  to  miss  him  in  the  least,  nor  did  she 
make  a  single  incjuiry  for  him.  We  had  been  so  good  to  her — so 
kind.  How  should  she  ever  forget  our  great  kindness  1  She  had 
been  so  happy — oh  !  so  happy  !  She  had  never  been  so  happy 
before.  Slie  would  write  often  and  often,  and  Laura  would  write 
constantly — wouldn't  she  1  "  Yes,  dear  child  !  "  says  my  wife. 
And  now  a  little  more  kissing,  and  it  is  time  to  go  home  to  the 
Tintelleries.  What  a  lovely  night !  Indeed  the  moon  was  blazing 
in  full  round  in  tlie  purple  heavens,  and  the  stars  were  twinkling 
by  myriads. 

"  Good-bye,  dear  Charlotte  ;  happiness  go  with  you  !  "  I  seize 
her  hand.  I  feel  a  paternal  desire  to  kiss  her  fair  rouild  face.  Her 
sweetness,  her  happiness,  her  artless  good-humour,  and  gentleness 
has  endeared  her  to  us  all.  As  for  me,  I  love  her  witli  a  fatherly 
affection.  "  Stay,  my  dear  !  "  I  cry,  with  a  happy  gallantry,  "  I'll 
go  home  with  you  to  the  Tintelleries." 

You  should  have  seen  the  fair  round  face  then!  Such  a  piteous 
expression  came  over  it !  She  looked  at  my  wife ;  and  as  for  that 
Mrs.  Laura  she  pulled  the  tail  of  my  coat. 

"What  do  you  mean,  my  dear"?"  I  ask. 

"Don't  go  out  on  such  a  dreadful  night.  You'll  catch  cold!" 
says  Laura. 


CHARI.OTTK  S    CONVOY. 


i 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     309 

"  Cold,   my   love  ! "   I   say.       "  Why,    it's   as   fine   a  night  as 


ever- 


"  Oh  !  you — you  stoojnd  !  "  says  Laura,  and  begins  to  laugh. 
And  there  goes  Miss  Charlotte  trij)ping  away  from  us  without  a 
word  more. 

Philip  came  in  about  ludf-an-hour  afterwards.  And  do  you 
know  I  very  strongly  suspect  that  he  had  been  waiting  round  the 
corner.  Few  things  escape  7ne,  you  see,  wdien  I  have  a  nnnd  to  be 
observant.  And,  certainly,  if  I  had  thought  of  that  possibility  and 
that  I  might  be  spoiling  sport,  I  should  not  have  proposed  to  Miss 
Charlotte  to  walk  home  witli  her. 

At  a  very  early  hour  on  the  next  morning  my  wife  arose,  and 
spent,  in  my  opinion,  a  great  deal  of  unprofitable  time,  bread,  butter, 
cold  beef,  mustard  and  salt,  in  compiling  a  heap  of  sandwiches, 
which  were  tied  up  in  a  copy  of  the  Fa/l  Mall  Gazette.  That  per- 
sistence in  making  sandwiches,  in  providing  cakes  and  other  refresh- 
ments for  a  journey,  is  a  strange  infatuation  in  women ;  as  if  there 
was  not  always  enough  to  eat  to  be  had  at  road  inns  and  railway 
stations !  What  a  good  dinner  w^e  used  to  have  at  Montreuil  in 
the  old  days,  before  railways  were,  and  when  the  diligence  spent 
four  or  six-and-twenty  cheerful  hours  on  its  way  to  Paris  1  I  think 
the  finest  dishes  are  not  to  be  compared  to  that  well-remembered 
fricandeau  of  youth,  nor  do  wines  of  the  most  dainty  vintage  surpass 
the  rough  honest  blue  ordinaire  which  was  served  at  the  plenteous 
inn-table.  I  took  our  bale  of  sandwiches  down  to  the  office  of  the 
Messageries,  whence  our  friends  were  to  start.  We  saw  six  of  the 
Baynes  family  packed  into  the  interior  of  the  diligence ;  and  the 
boys  climb  cheerily  into  the  rotonde.  Charlotte's  pretty  lips  and 
hands  wafted  kisses  to  us  from  her  corner.  Mrs.  General  Baynes 
commanded  the  column,  pushed  the  little  ones  into  their  places  in 
the  ark,  ordered  the  General  and  the  young  ones  hither  and  thither 
with  her  parasol,  declined  to  give  the  grumbling  porters  any  but 
the  smallest  gratuity,  and  talked  a  shrieking  jargon  of  French  and 
Hindostanee  to  the  people  assembled  round  the  carriage.  My  wife 
has  that  command  over  me  that  she  actually  made  me  demean  my- 
self so  far  as  to  deliver  the  sandwich  i)ai-cel  to  one  of  the  Baynes 
boys.  I  said,  "Take  this,"  and  the  poor  wretch  held  out  his  hand 
eagerly,  evidently  exi^ecting  that  I  was  about  to  tip  him  with  a 
five-franc  piece  or  some  such  coin.  Fouette,  cocker  !  The  horses 
squeal.  The  huge  machine  jingles  over  the  road,  and  rattles  down 
the  street.  Farewell,  pretty  Charlotte,  with  your  sweet  face  and 
sweet  voice  and  kind  eyes  !  But  wliy,  pray,  is  Mi-.  Pliilij)  Firmin 
not  here  to  say  farewell  tool 

Before   the   diligence    got    under    wav,    the   Baynes    bovs    had 


310  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

fought,  and  quarrelled,  and  wanted  to  nioiuit  on  the  imperial  or 
cabriolet  of  the  carriage,  where  there  was  only  one  passenger  as 
yet.  But  the  conductor  called  the  lads  off,  saying  that  the  re- 
maining place  was  engaged  by  a  gentleman  whom  they  were  to 
take  up  on  the  road.  And  who  should  this  turn  out  to  be  ?  Just 
outside  the  town  a  man  springs  up  to  the  imperial;  his  light 
luggage,  it  appears,  was  on  the  coach  already,  and  that  luggage 
belonged  to  Philip  Firmin.  Ah,  monsieur !  and  that  was  the 
reason,  was  it,  why  they  were  so  merry  yesterday — the  parting 
day?  Because  they  were  not  going  to  part  just  then.  Because, 
when  the  time  of  execution  drew  near,  they  had  managed  to 
smuggle  a  little  reprieve?  Upon  my  conscience,  I  never  heard 
of  such  imprudence  in  the  whole  course  of  my  life  !  Why,  it  is 
starvation — certain  misery  to  one  and  the  other.  "I  don't  like 
to  meddle  in  other  people's  affairs,"  I  say  to  my  wife;  "but  I 
have  no  patience  with  such  folly,  or  with  myself  for  not  speaking 
to  General  Baynes  on  the  subject.     I  shall  write  to  the  General." 

"My  dear,  the  General  knows  all  about  it,"  says  Charlotte's, 
Philip's  (in  my  opinion)  most  injudicious  friend.  "  We  have  talked 
about  it,  and,  like  a  man  of  sense,  the  General  makes  light  of  it. 
'Young  folks  will  be  young  folks,'  he  says;  'and,  by,  George! 
ma'am,  when  I  married — I  should  say  when  Mrs.  B.  ordered  me 
to  marry  her — she  had  nothing,  and  I  but  my  captain's  pay. 
People  get  on  somehow.  Better  for  a  young  man  to  marry,  and 
keep  out  of  idleness  and  mischief;  and,  I  promise  you,  the  chap 
who  marries  my  girl  gets  a  treasure.  I  like  the  boy  for  the  sake 
of  my  old  friend  Phil  Ringwood.  I  don't  see  that  the  fellows  with 
the  rich  wives  are  much  the  happier,  or  that  men  should  wait 
to  marry  until  they  are  gouty  old  rakes.'"  And,  it  appears,  the 
General  instanced  several  officers  of  his  own  acquaintance;  some 
of  whom  had  married  when  tliey  were  young  and  poor ;  some  who 
had  married  when  they  were  old  and  sulky ;  some  who  had  never 
married  at  all.  And  he  mentioned  his  comrade,  my  own  uncle, 
the  late  Major  Pendennis,  whom  he  called  a  selfish  old  creature, 
and  hinted  that  the  Major  had  jilted  some  lady  in  early  life,  whom 
he  would  have  done  much  better  to  marry. 

And  so  Philip  has  actually  gone  after  his  charmer,  and  is 
pursuing  her  summd  diligentid  ?  The  Baynes  family  has  allowed 
this  pemiiless  young  law  student  to  make  love  to  their  daughter, 
or  accompany  them  to  Paris,  to  appear  as  the  almost  recognised 
son  of  the  house.  "  Other  people,  when  they  were  young,  wanted 
to  make  imprudent  marriages,"  says  my  wife  (as  if  that  wretched 
tu  quoque  were  any  answer  to  my  remark  !).  "  Tliis  penniless 
law  student  miglit  liave  a  good  sum  of  money  if  he  chose  to  press 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      311 

tlie  Baynes  family  to  pay  him  what,  after  all,  they  owe  him."  And 
so  poor  little  Charlotte  was  to  be  her  father's  ransom  !  To  he  sure, 
little  Charlotte  did  not  object  to  ofter  herself  up  in  payment  (jf  her 
])apa's  debt !  And  though  I  objected  as  a  moral  man  and  a  prudent 
man,  and  a  father  of  a  family,  I  coidd  not  be  very  seriously  angry. 
I  am  secretly  of  the  disposition  of  the  time-honoured  j<x're  de  fcwiille 
in  the  comedies,  the  irascible  old  gentleman  in  the  crop  wig  and 
George-the-Second  coat,  who  is  always  menacing  "  Tom  the  young 
dog"  with  his  cane.  When  the  deed  is  done,  and  Miranda  (the 
little  sly-boots  !)  falls  before  my  squaretoes  and  shoe-buckles,  and 
Tom,  the  young  dog,  kneels  before  me  in  his  white  ducks,  and  they 
cry  out  in  a  pretty  chorus,  "  Forgive  us,  grandpapa ! "  I  say, 
"  Well,  you  rogue,  boys  will  be  boys.  Take  lier,  sirrah  !  Be  hajtpy 
with  her ;  ancl,  hark  ye  !  in  this  pocket-book  you  will  find  ten 
thousand,"  &c.  &c.  You  all  know  the  story :  I  cannot  helj)  liking 
it,  however  old  it  may  be.  In  love,  somehow,  one  is  jjleased  that 
young  people  should  dare  a  little.  Was  not  Bessy  Eldon  famous 
as  an  econonust,  and  Lord  Eldon  celebrated  for  wisdom  and  caution  ? 
and  did  not  John  Scott  marry  Elizabeth  Surtees  when  they  had 
scarcely  twopence  a  year  between  them "?  "  Of  course,  my  dear," 
I  say  to  the  i)artner  of  my  existence,  "now  this  madcap  fellow  is 
utterly  ruined,  now  is  the  very  time  he  ought  to  marry.  The 
accepted  doctrine  is  that  a  man  should  spend  his  own  fortune, 
then  his  wife's  fortune,  and  then  he  may  begin  to  get  on  at  the 
bar.  Philip  has  a  hundred  pounds,  let  us  say;  Charlotte  has 
nothing;  so  that  in  about  sLx  weeks  we  may  look  to  hear  of  Philip 
being  in  successful  practice " 

"  Successful  nonsense  !  "  cries  the  lady.  "  iJon't  go  on  like  a 
cold-blooded  calculating  machine !  You  don't  believe  a  word  of 
what  you  say,  and  a  more  imprudent  person  never  lived  than  you  your- 
self were  as  a  young  man."  This  was  departing  from  the  (juestion, 
which  women  will  do.  "  Nonsense  !  "  again  says  my  romantic  being 
of  a  partner-of-existence.  "  Don't  tell  me,  sir.  They  WILL  be  pro- 
vided for !  Are  we  to  be  for  ever  taking  care  of  the  morrow,  and 
not  trusting  that  we  shall  be  cared  for"?  You  may  call  your  way 
of  thinking  ])rudence.  I  call  it  siufid  worUUiness,  sir."  When  my 
life-]iartn('r  speaks  in  a  certain  strain,  I  know  that  remonstrance  is 
useless,  and  argument  unavailing,  ami  I  generally  resort  to  cowiirdly 
subterfuges,  and  sneak  out  of  the  (ujuversation  by  a  i)un,  a  side 
joke,  or  some  otlier  flippancy.  Besides,  in  this  case,  tliough  I  argue 
against  my  wife,  my  sympathy  is  on  her  side.  I  know  Mr.  Philip 
is  imprudent  and  headstrong,  but  I  should  like  him  to  succeed,  and 
be  happy.     I  own  he  is  a  scapegrace,  but  I  wish  him  well. 

So,  just  as  the  diligence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard  is  clearing  out 


312  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of  Boulogne  town,  the  conductor  causes  the  carriage  to  stop,  and  a 
young  fellow  has  mounted  up  on  the  roof  in  a  twinkling  ;  and  the 
postillion  says  ''  Hi !  "  to  his  horses,  and  away  those  squealing  greys 
go  clattering.  And  a  young  lady,  happening  to  look  ont  of  one 
of  the  windows  of  the  int^rieiir,  has  perfectly  recognised  the  young 
gentleman  who  leaped  up  to  the  roof  so  nimbly ;  and  the  two  boys 
who  were  in  the  rotonde  would  have  recognised  the  gentleman,  but 
that  they  were  already  eating  the  sandwiches  which  my  wife  had 
provided.  And  so  the  diligence  goes  on,  until  it  reaches  that  hill 
where  the  girls  used  to  come  and  offer  to  sell  you  apples  :  and  some 
of  the  passengers  descend  and  walk,  and  the  tall  young  man  on  tlie 
roof  jumps  down,  and  approaches  the  party  in  the  interior,  and  a 
young  lady  cries  out  "  La !  "  and  her  mamma  looks  impenetrably 
grave,  and  not  in  the  least  surprised ;  and  her  father  gives  a  wink 
of  one  eye,  and  says,  "  It's  him,  is  it,  by  George  ! "  and  the  two 
boys  coming  out  of  the  rotonde,  their  mouths  full  of  sandwich,  cry 
out,  "  Hullo  !     It's  Mr.  Firmin." 

"  How  do  you  do,  ladies  1 "  he  says,  blushing  as  red  as  an  apple, 
and  his  lieart  thumping — -but  that  may  be  from  walking  uphill. 
And  he  puts  a  hand  towards  the  carriage-window,  and  a  little  hand 
conies  out  and  lights  on  his.  And  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  wlio  is 
reading  a  religious  work,  looks  up  and  says,  "Oh  !  how  do  you 
do,  Mr.  Firmin  1 "  And  this  is  the  remarkable  dialogue  that  takes 
place.  It  is  not  very  witty ;  but  Philip's  tones  send  a  rapture  into 
one  young  heart :  and  when  he  is  absent,  and  has  climbed  up  to 
his  place  in  the  cabriolet,  the  kick  of  his  boots  on  the  roof  gives 
the  said  young  heart  inexpressible  comfort  and  consolation.  Shine, 
stars  and  moon !  Shriek,  grey  horses,  through  the  calm  night ! 
Snore  sweetly,  papa  and  mamma,  in  your  corners,  with  your  pocket- 
handkercliiefs  tied  round  your  old  fronts  !  I  suppose,  under  all  the 
stars  of  heaven,  tliere  is  nobody  more  happy  than  that  child  in  that 
carriage — tiiat  wakeful  girl,  in  sweet  maiden  meditation — who  has 
given  her  heart  to  the  keeping  of  the  champion  who  is  so  near  her. 
Has  he  not  been  always  their  champion  and  preserver"?  Don't 
they  owe  to  his  generosity  everything  in  life ']  One  of  the  little 
sisters  wakes  wildly,  and  cries  in  the  night,  and  Cliarlotte  takes 
the  child  into  her  arms  and  soothes  her.  "  Hush,  dear !  He's 
there — -he's  there,"  she  whispers,  as  she  bends  over  the  child. 
Nothing  wrong  can  happen  with  him  there,  she  feels.  If  the 
robbers  were  to  spring  out  from  yonder  dark  pines,  why,  he  would 
jump  down,  and  tliey  would  all  fly  before  him  !  The  carriage  rolls 
on  through  sleeping  villages,  and  as  the  old  team  retires  all  in  a 
halo  of  smoke,  and  the  fresh  horses  come  clattering  up  to  their  pole, 
Charlotte  sees  a  well-known  Avhite  face  in  the  gleam  of  the  carriage- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     313 

lanterns.  Through  tlie  long  avenues  the  great  vehicle  rolls  on  its 
course.  The  dawn  jjeers  over  the  poplars  :  the  stars  quiver  out  of 
sight :  tlie  sun  is  up  in  the  sky,  and  the  heaven  is  all  in  a  flame. 
The  night  is  over — the  night  of  nights.  In  all  the  round  world, 
whether  lighted  by  stars  or  sunshine,  there  were  not  two  people 
more  happy  than  these  had  been. 

A  very  short  time  afterwards,  at  the  end  of  October,  our  own 
little  sea-side  sojourn  came  to  an  end.  That  astounding  bill  for 
broken  glass,  chairs,  crockery,  was  paid.  Tlie  London  steamer 
takes  us  all  on  board  on  a  beautiful  sunny  autumn  evening,  and 
lands  us  at  the  Custom-house  Quay  in  the  midst  of  a  deep  dun 
fog,  through  which  our  cabs  have  to  work  their  way  over  greasy 
pavements,  and  bearing  two  loads  of  silent  and  terrified  children. 
Ah,  that  return,  if  but  after  a  fortnight's  absence  and  holiday  !  Oh, 
that  heap  of  letters  lying  in  a  ghastly  pile,  and  yet  so  clearly  visible 
in  the  dim  twilight  of  master's  study  !  We  cheerfully  breakfast  by 
candlelight  for  the  first  two  days  after  my  arrival  at  home,  and  I 
have  the  pleasure  of  cutting  a  part  of  my  chin  oft"  because  it  is  too 
dark  to  shave  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

My  wife  can't  be  so  unfeeling  as  to  laugh  and  be  merry  because 
I  have  met  with  an  accident  which  temporarily  disfigures  me.  If 
the  dun  fog  makes  her  jocular,  she  has  a  very  queer  sense  of  humour. 
She  has  a  letter  before  her,  over  which  she  is  perfectly  radiant. 
When  she  is  especially  pleased  I  can  see  by  her  face  and  a  particular 
animation  and  affectionateness  towards  the  rest  of  the  family.  On 
this  present  morning  her  face  beams  out  of  the  fog-clouds.  The 
room  is  illuminated  by  it,  and  perhaps  by  the  two  candles  which 
are  placed  one  on  either  side  of  the  urn.  The  fire  crackles  and 
flames,  and  spits  most  cheerfully ;  and  the  sky  without,  which  is  of 
the  hue  of  brown  paper,  seems  to  set  off"  the  brightness  of  the  little 
interior  scene. 

"  A  letter  from  Cliarlotte,  papa,"  cries  one  little  girl,  with  an 
air  of  consequence.  "And  a  letter  from  Uncle  Phili]),  ])apa ! " 
cries  another;  "and  they  like  Paris  so  much,"  continues  the  little 
reporter. 

"And  there,  sir,  didn't  I  tell  you?"  cries  tlie  lady,  handing  me 
over  a  letter. 

"Mamma  always  told  you  so,"  echoes  tlic  child,  witli  an 
important  nod  of  the  head;  "and  I  shouldn't  lie  surprised  if 
he  were  to  be  very  rich,  should  you,  mamma]"  continues  this 
arithmetician. 

I  would  not  put  Miss  ('liarlotte's  letter  into  jiriiit  if  I  could, 
for  do  you  know  that  little  jierson's  grammar  w;is  frc(iuently  in- 
correct ;  there  were   three   or  four  words  spelt  wrongly  ;  and  the 


314  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

letter  was  so  scored  and  marked  witli  dashes  under  every  other 
luord,  that  it  is  clear  to  me  her  education  had  been  neglected ;  and 
as  I  am  very  fond  of  her,  I  do  not  wish  to  make  fun  of  her.  And 
I  can't  print  Mr.  PhiliiVs  letter,  for  I  haven't  kept  it.  Of  what  use 
keeping  letters'?  I  say,  Burn,  burn,  burn.  No  heart-pangs.  No 
reproaches.  No  yesterday.  AVas  it  happy  or  miserable  ?  To  think 
of  it  is  always  melancholy.  Go  to !  I  daresay  it  is  the  thought 
of  that  fog,  which  is  making  this  sentence  so  dismal.  Meanwhile 
there  is  Madame  Laura's  face  smiling  out  of  the  darkness,  as  pleased 
as  may  be ;  and  no  wonder,  she  is  always  happy  when  her  friends 
are  so. 

Charlotte's  letter  contained  a  full  account  of  the  settlement  of 
the  Baynes  family  at  Madame  Smolensk's  boarding-house,  where 
they  appear  to  liave  been  really  very  comfortable,  and  to  have  lived 
at  a  very  cheap  rate.  As  for  Mr.  Philip,  lie  made  his  way  to  a 
crib,  to  Avhich  his  artist  friends  had  recommended  him,  on  the 
Faubourg  St.  Germain  side  of  the  water — the  "  Hotel  Poussin,"  in 
the  street  of  that  name,  which  lies,  you  know,  between  the  Mazarin 
Library  and  the  Musde  des  Beaux-Arts.  In  former  days,  my 
gentleman  had  lived  in  state  and  bounty  in  the  English  hotels  and 
(piarter.  Now  he  found  himself  very  handsomely  lodged  for  thirty 
francs  per  month,  and  with  five  or  six  pounds,  he  has  repeatedly 
said  since,  he  could  carry  through  the  month  very  comfortably.  I 
don't  say,  my  young  traveller,  that  you  can  be  so  lucky  now-a-days. 
Are  we  not  telling  a  story  of  twenty  years  ago  1  Ay  marry.  Ere 
steam-coaches  had  begun  to  scream  on  French  rails ;  and  when 
Louis  Philippe  was  King. 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  is  ruined  he  must  needs  fall  in 
love.  In  order  to  be  near  the  beloved  object,  he  must  needs  follow 
her  to  Paris,  and  give  up  his  promised  studies  for  the  bar  at  home ; 
where,  to  do  him  justice,  I  believe  the  fellow  would  never  have 
done  any  good.  And  he  has  not  been  in  Paris  a  fortnight  when 
that  fantastic  jade  Fortune,  who  had  seemed  to  fly  away  from  him, 
gives  him  a  smiling  look  of  recognition,  as  if  to  say,  "  Young  gentle- 
man, I  have  not  quite  done  with  you." 

The  good  fortune  was  not  much.  Do  not  suppose  that  Philip 
suddenly  drew  a  twenty-thousand-pound  prize  in  a  lottery.  But, 
being  in  much  want  of  money,  he  suddenly  found  himself  enabled 
to  earn  some  in  a  way  pretty  easy  to  himself 

In  the  first  place,  Phifij)  found  his  friends  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mugford  in  a  bewildered  state  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  in  which  city 
Mugford  would  never  consent  to  have  a  laquais  de  place,  being  firmly 
convinced  to  the  day  of  his  death  that  he  knew  the  French  language 
quite  sutficiently  for  all  purposes  of  conversation.     Philip,  who  had 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     315 

often  visited  Paris  before,  came  to  the  aid  of  his  friends  in  a  two- 
franc  dining-house,  whicli  he  frequented  for  economy's  sake ;  and 
they,  because  they  thought  the  banquet  there  provided  not  only 
(^heap,  but  most  magnificent  and  satisfactory.  He  interpreted  for 
them,  and  rescued  tiiem  from  tlieir  perplexity,  whatever  it  was. 
He  treated  them  handsomely  to  caffy  on  the  bullyvard,  as  Mugford 
said  on  returning  home  and  in  recounting  the  adventure  to  me. 
"  He  can't  forget  that  he  lias  been  a  swell :  and  he  does  do  things 
like  a  gentleman,  that  Firmin  does.  He  came  back  with  us  to  our 
hotel — Meurice's,"  said  Mr.  Mugford,  "  and  who  should  drive  into 
the  yard  and  step  out  of  his  carriage  but  Lord  Ringwood — you 
know  Lord  Ringwood  1  everybody  knows  him.  As  he  gets  out  of 
his  carriage — 'What!  is  tliat  you,  Philip'?'  says  his  Lordship, 
giving  the  young  fellow  his  hand.  '  Come  and  breakfast  with  me 
to-morrow  morning.'     And  away  he  goes  most  friendly." 

How  came  it  to  pass  that  Lord  Ringwood,  whose  instinct  of 
self-preservation  Avas  strong — who,  I  fear,  was  rather  a  selfish 
nobleman — and  who,  of  late,  as  we  have  heard,  had  given  orders  to 
refuse  Mr.  Philip  entrance  at  his  door — should  all  of  a  sudden  turn 
roiuid  and  greet  the  young  man  with  cordiality  1  In  the  first  place, 
Pliilip  had  never  troubled  his  Lordshi])'s  knocker  at  all ;  and  second, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  on  tliis  very  day  of  their  meeting  his  Lord- 
ship had  been  to  dine  with  that  well-known  Parisian  resident  and 
bon  vivant,  my  Lord  Viscount  Trim,  who  had  been  Governor  of 
the  Sago  Islands  when  Colonel  Baynes  w^as  there  with  his  regiment, 
the  gallant  100th.  And  the  General  and  his  old  West  India 
Governor  meeting  at  church,  my  Lord  Trim  straightway  asked 
General  Baynes  to  dinner,  where  Lord  Ringwood  was  j)resent,  along 
with  other  distinguished  company,  whom  at  present  we  need  not 
])articulaiiso.  Now  it  has  been  said  that  Philij)  Ringwood,  my 
Lord's  bi'otlier,  and  Captain  Baynes  in  early  youth  had  been  close 
friends,  and  that  the  Colonel  had  died  in  the  Captain's  arms.  Lord 
Ringwood,  who  had  an  excellent  memory  when  he  chose  to  use  it, 
was  pleased  on  this  occasion  to  remember  General  Baynes  and  his 
intimacy  with  his  brother  in  old  days.  And  of  those  old  times 
they  talked  ;  the  General  waxing  more  eloquent,  I  suppose,  than 
his  wont  over  Lord  Trim's  excellent  wine.  And  in  the  course  of 
conversation  Philip  was  named,  and  the  General,  warm  with  drink, 
]toured  out  a  most  enthusiastic  eulogium  on  his  young  friend,  and 
mentioned  how  noble  and  self-denying  Philip's  conduct  had  been  in 
liis  own  case.  And  perhaps  Lord  Ringwood  was  pleased  at  hearing 
these  praises  of  his  brother's  grandson  ;  and  perhaps  he  thought  of 
old  times,  when  he  had  a  heart,  anil  he  and  his  brother  loved  each 
other.     And  though  he  might  think  Philip  Firmin  an  absurd  young 


316  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

blockliead  for  giving  up  any  claims  Avhich  he  might  hi.ve  on  General 
Baynes,  at  anyrate  I  have  no  doubt  his  Lordship  thought,  "  This 
boy  is  not  likely  to  come  begging  money  from  me  !  "  Hence,  when 
he  drove  back  to  his  hotel  on  the  very  night  after  this  dinner,  and 
in  the  courtyard  saw  that  Philip  Firmin,  his  brother's  grandson, 
the  heart  of  the  old  nobleman  was  smitten  with  a  kindly  sentiment, 
and  he  bade  PhiliiJ  to  come  and  see  him. 

I  have  described  some  of  Philip's  oddities,  and  amongst  these 
was  a  very  remarkable  change  in  his  appearance,  which  ensued  very 
speedily  after  his  ruin.  I  know  that  the  greater  number  of  story- 
readers  are  young,  and  those  who  are  ever  so  old  remember  that  their 
own  young  days  occurred  but  a  very  very  short  while  ago.  Don't 
you  remember,  most  potent,  grave,  and  reverend  senior,  when  you 
were  a  junior,  and  actually  rather  pleased  with  new  clothes?  Does 
a  new  coat  or  a  waistcoat  cause  you  any  pleasure  now  1  To  a  well- 
constituted  middle-aged  gentleman,  I  rather  trust  a  smart  new  suit 
causes  a  sensation  of  uneasiness — not  from  the  tightness  of  the  fit, 
which  may  be  a  reason — but  from  the  gloss  and  splendour.  When 
my  late  kind  friend,  Mrs.  ,  gave  me  the  emerald  tabinet  waist- 
coat, with  the  gold  shamrocks,  I  wore  it  once  to  go  to  Richmond 
to  dine  with  her ;  but  I  buttoned  myself  so  closely  in  an  upper 
coat,  tiiat  I  am  sure  nobody  in  the  omnibus  saw  what  a  painted 
vest  I  had  on.  Gold  sprigs  and  emerald  tabinet,  what  a  gorgeous 
raiment  !  It  has  formed  for  ten  years  the  chief  ornament  of  my 
wardrobe  ;  and  though  I  have  never  dared  to  wear  it  since,  I  always 
think  with  a  secret  pleasure  of  possessing  that  treasure.  Do  women, 
when  they  are  sixty,  like  handsome  ami  fashionable  attire,  and  a 
youthful  appearance  1  Look  at  Lady  Jezebel's  blushing  cheek,  her 
raven  hair,  her  splendid  garments  !  But  tiiis  disquisition  may  be 
carried  to  too  great  a  length.  I  want  to  note  a  fact  wliich  has 
occurred  not  seldom  in  my  experience — that  men  who  have  been 
great  dandies  will  often  and  suddenly  give  up  their  long-accustomed 
splendour  of  dress,  and  walk  about,  most  happy  and  contented,  with 
the  shabbiest  of  coats  and  hats.  No.  The  majority  of  men  are 
not  vain  about  their  dress.  For  instance,  within  a  very  few  years, 
men  used  to  have  pretty  feet.  See  in  what  a  resolute  way  they 
have  kicked  their  pretty  boots  off  almost  to  a  man,  and  wear  great 
thick  formless  comfortable  walking  boots,  of  shape  scarcely  more 
graceful  than  a  tub  ! 

When  Philip  Firmin  first  came  on  the  town,  there  were  dandies 
still;  there  were  dazzling  waistcoats  of  velvet  and  brocade,  and 
tall  stocks  with  cataracts  of  satin ;  there  were  pins,  studs,  neck- 
chains,  I  know  not  what  fantastic  splendours  of  youth.  His  var- 
nished boots  grew  upon  forests  of  trees.     He  had  a  most  resplendent 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     317 

silver-gilt  dressing-case,  presented  to  him  by  his  father  (for  wliich, 
it  is  true,  the  Doctor  neglected  to  pay,  leaving  that  duty  to  his 
son).  "  It  is  a  mere  ceremony,"  said  the  worthy  Doctor,  "  a  cum- 
brous thing  you  may  fancy  at  first ;  but  take  it  about  with  you. 
It  looks  well  on  a  man's  dressing-table  at  a  country  house.  It 
poses  a  man,  you  understand.  I  have  known  women  come  in  and 
peep  at  it.  A  tritie,  you  may  say,  my  boy  ;  but  what  is  the  use 
of  flinging  any  chance  in  life  away  1 "  Now,  when  nusfortune  came, 
young  Philip  flung  away  all  these  magnificent  follies.  He  wrapped 
himself  c/r^H/e  sua:  and  I  am  bound  to  say  a  more  queer-looking 
fellow  than  friend  Philip  seldom  walked  tlie  pavement  of  London 
or  Paris.  He  could  not  wear  the  nap  oft"  all  his  coats,  or  rub  his 
elbows  into  rags  in  six  months;  but,  as  he  would  say  of  himself 
with  nuich  simplicity,  "  I  do  think  I  run  to  seed  more  cjuickly  than 
any  fellow  I  ever  knew.  All  my  socks  in  holes,  Mrs.  Pendennis  : 
all  my  shirt-buttons  gone,  I  give  you  my  word.  I  don't  know  how 
the  things  hold  together,  and  why  they  don't  tumble  to  pieces.  I 
suspect  I  must  have  a  bad  laundress."  Suspect  !  My  children 
used  to  laugh  and  crow  as  they  sewed  buttons  on  to  him.  As  for 
the  Little  Sister,  she  broke  into  his  apartments  in  his  absence,  and 
said  that  it  turned  her  hair  grey  to  see  the  state  of  his  poor  ward- 
robe. I  believe  that  Mrs.  Brandon  put  surreptitious  linen  into  his 
drawers.  He  did  not  know.  He  wore  the  shirts  in  a  contented 
spirit.  The  glossy  boots  began  to  crack  and  then  to  Inirst,  and 
Philip  wore  them  with  perfect  equanimity.  Where  weie  the 
beautiful  lavender  and  lemon  gloves  of  last  year^  His  great 
naked  hands  (with  which  he  gesticulates  so  grandly)  were  as  brown 
as  an  Indian's  now.  We  had  liked  him  heartily  in  his  days  of 
splendour ;  we  loved  him  now  in  his  threadbare  suit. 

I  can  fancy  the  young  man  striding  into  the  room  where  his 
Lordship's  guests  were  assembled.  In  the  presence  of  great  or 
small,  Philip  has  always  been  entirely  unconcerned,  and  he  is  one 
of  the  half-dozen  men  I  have  seen  in  my  life  upon  whom  rank  made 
no  impression.  It  appears  that,  on  occasion  of  this  breaki'ast,  there 
were  one  or  two  dandies  present  who  were  agiiast  at  Philip's 
freedom  of  behaviour.  He  engaged  in  conversation  with  a  famous 
French  statesman  ;  contradicted  him  with  much  energy  in  his  own 
language ;  and  when  the  statesman  asked  wliether  monsieur  was 
membre  du  Parlemenf?  Philip  burst  into  one  of  liis  roars  of 
laughter,  wliich  almost  breaks  tiie  glasses  on  a  table,  and  said,  "  Je 
suis  journaliste,  monsieur,  k  vos  ordres  !  "  Young  Tim])ury  of  the 
embassy  was  aghast  at  Philip's  insolence ;  and  Dr.  Botts,  his  Lord- 
ship's travelling  physician,  looketl  at  him  with  a  terrified  face.  A 
bottle  of  claret  was  brought,  which  almost  all  the  gentlemen  present 


318  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

began  to  swallow,  until  Philip,  tasting  his  glass,  called  out, 
"  Faugh  !  It's  corked  ! "  "  So  it  is,  and  very  badly  corked," 
growls  my  Lord,  with  one  of  his  usual  oaths.  "  Why  didn't  some 
of  you  fellows  speak?  Do  you  like  corked  wine?"  There  were 
gallant  fellows  round  that  table  who  would  have  drunk  corked 
black  dose,  had  his  Lordship  professed  to  like  senna.  The  old  host 
was  tickled  and  anuised.  "  Your  motlier  was  a  quiet  soul,  and 
your  father  used  to  bow  like  a  dancing-master.  You  ain't  much 
like  him.  I  dine  at  home  most  days.  Leave  word  in  the  morning 
with  my  people,  and  come  wlien  you  like,  Philip,"  he  growled.  A 
part  of  this  news  Philip  narrated  to  us  in  his  letter,  and  other  part 
was  given  verbally  by  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford  on  their  return  to 
London.  "I  tell  you,  sir,"  says  Mugford,  "he  has  been  taken  by 
the  hand  by  some  of  the  tip-top  people,  and  I  have  booked  him  at 
three  guineas  a  week  for  a  letter  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette." 

And  this  was  the  cause  of  my  wife's  exultation  and  triumphant 
"Didn't  I  tell  you?"  Philip's  foot  was  on  the  ladder;  and  who 
so  capable  of  mounting  to  the  top?  When  happiness  and  a  fond 
and  lovely  girl  were  waiting  for  him  there,  would  he  lose  heart, 
spare  exertion,  or  be  afraid  to  climb  ?  He  had  no  truer  well-wisher 
than  myself,  and  no  friend  who  liked  him  better,  though,  I  dare- 
say, many  admired  him  much  more  than  I  did.  But  these  were 
women  for  the  most  part ;  and  women  become  so  absurdly  unjust 
and  partial  to  persons  whom  they  love,  when  these  latter  are  in 
misfortune,  that  I  am  surprised  Mr.  Philip  did  not  quite  lose  his 
head  in  his  poverty,  with  such  fond  flatterers  and  sycophants  round 
about  him.  Would  you  grudge  him  the  consolation  to  be  had  from 
these  sweet  uses  of  adversity  ?  Many  a  heart  would  be  hardened 
but  for  the  memory  of  past  griefs ;  when  eyes,  now  averted, 
perhaps,  were  full  of  sympathy,  and  hands,  now  cold,  were  eager  to 
soothe  and  succour. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

QU'ON  EST  BIEN   A    VIXGT  ANS 

A  FAIR  correspondent — and  I  would  parenthetically  hint  that 
all  correspondents  are  not  fair — points  out  the  disei-epancy 
existing  between  the  text  and  the  illustrations  of  our  stoi-y  ; 
and  justly  remarks  that  the  story  dated  more  than  twenty  years 
back,  while  the  costumes  of  the  actors  of  our  little  comedy  are  of 
the  fashion  of  to-day. 

My  dear  madam,  these  anachronisms  must  be,  or  you  would 
scarcely  be  able  to  keep  any  interest  for  our  charactters.  What 
would  be  a  woman  without  a  crinoline  petticoat,  for  example  1  an 
object  ridiculous,  hateful,  I  suppose  hardly  proper.  What  would 
you  think  of  a  hero  who  wore  a  large  high  black -satin  stock  cascading 
over  a  figunnl  silk  waistcoat ;  and  a  blue  dress-coat,  with  brass 
buttons,  mayhap  1  If  a  person  so  attired  came  up  to  ask  you  to 
dance,  could  you  refrain  from  laughing'?  Time  was  when  young 
men  so  decoi-ated  found  favour  in  the  eyes  of  damsels  Avho  had  never 
beheld  iioo])e(l  jietticoats,  except  in  their  grandmother's  portraits. 
Persons  Avho  flourished  in  the  first  part  of  tlie  century  never  thought 
to  see  the  hoops  of  our  ancestors'  age  rolled  downwards  to  our  con- 
temporaries and  children.  Did  we  ever  imagine  that  a  jjcriod  would 
arrive  when  our  young  men  would  part  their  hair  down  the  middle, 
and  wear  a  piece  of  tape  for  a  neckloth  1  As  soon  should  we  have 
thought  of  their  dyeing  their  bodies  with  woad,  and  arraying  them- 
selves like  ancient  Britons.  So  the  ages  have  their  dress  and 
undress  ;  and  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of  Victoria's  time  are  satisfied 
witli  their  manner  of  raiment ;  as  no  doubt  in  Boadicea's  court  they 
looked  cliarming  tattooed  and  jiainted  blue. 

The  times  of  which  we  write,  the  times  of  Louis  Philippe  the 
King,  are  so  altered  from  the  jjrescnt,  that  when  Philiji  Firniin  went 
to  Paris  it  was  absolutely  a  cheap  place  to  live  in  ;  and  he  has  often 
bragged  in  subseiinent  days  of  having  lived  well  during  a  month  for 
five  poinids,  and  bought  a  neat  waistcoat  with  a  i)art  of  the  money. 
"A  capital  bedroom,  au  premier,  for  a  franc  a  day,  sir,"  he  would 
call  all  i)ersons  to  remark,  "a  bedroom  as  good  as  yours,  my  Lord, 
at  Meurice's.     Very  good  tea  oi'  cotiee  breakfast,  twenty  francs  a 


320  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

month,  with  lots  of  bread  and  Ixitter.  Twenty  francs  a  month  for 
washing,  and  fifty  for  dinner  and  pocket-money — tliat's  about  tlie 
figure.  The  dinner,  I  own,  is  shy,  unless  I  come  and  dine  with  my 
friends  :  and  then  I  make  up  for  banyan  days."  And  so  saying 
Philip  would  call  out  for  more  truffled  partridges,  or  aftably  filled 
his  goblet  with  my  Lord  Ringwood's  best  Sillery.  "At  those 
shops,"  he  woulil  observe,  "  wliere  I  dine,  I  have  beer  :  I  can't 
stand  the  wine.  And  you  see,  I  can't  go  to  the  cheap  English 
ordinaries,  of  which  there  are  many,  because  English  gentlemen's 
servants  are  there,  you  know,  and  it's  not  pleasant  to  sit  with  a 
fellow  who  waits  on  you  the  day  after." 

"  Oh !  the  English  servants  go  to  the  cheap  ordinaries,  do 
they  ■? "  asks  my  Lord,  greatly  amused,  "  and  you  drink  hiere  de 
Mars  at  the  shop  where  you  dine  1 " 

"  And  dine  very  badly,  too,  I  can  tell  you.  Always  come  away 
hungry.  G-ive  me  some  champagne — the  dry,  if  you  please.  They 
mix  very  well  together — sweet  and  dry.  Did  you  ever  dine  at 
Flicoteau's,  Mr.  Pecker  ?  " 

"/ dine  at  one  of  your  horrible  two-franc  houses  *? "  cries  Mr. 
Pecker,  with  a  look  of  terror.  "Do  you  know,  my  Lord,  there 
are  actually  houses  where  people  dine  for  two  francs  1 " 

"  Two  francs  !  Seventeen  sous  ! "  bawls  out  Mr.  Firmin. 
"The  soup,  the  beef,  the  roti,  the  salad,  the  dessert,  and  the 
whitey-brown  bread  at  discretion.  It's  not  a  good  dinner,  certainly 
— in  fact,  it  is  a  dreadful  bad  one.  But  to  dine  so  would  do  some 
fellows  a  great  deal  of  good." 

"What  do  you  say.  Pecker?  Flicoteau's;  seventeen  sous. 
We'll  make  a  little  party  and  try,  and  Firmin  shall  do  the  honours 
of  his  restaurant,"  says  my  Lord,  with  a  grin. 

"  Mercy  !  "  gasps  Mr.  Pecker. 

"I  had  rather  dine  here,  if  you  please,  my  Lord,"  says  the 
young  man.      "  This  is  cheaper  and  certainly  better." 

My  Lord's  doctor,  and  many  of  tlie  guests  at  his  table,  my 
lord's  henchmen,  flatterers,  and  led  captains,  looked  aghast  at  the 
freedom  of  the  young  fellow  in  the  shabby  coat.  If  thej/  dared  to 
be  fiimiliar  with  their  host,  there  came  a  scowl  over  that  noble 
countenance  which  was  awful  to  face.  They  drank  his  corked  wine 
in  meekness  of  spirit.  They  laughed  at  his  jokes  trembling.  One 
after  another,  they  were  the  objects  of  his  satire ;  and  each  grinned 
piteously,  as  he  took  his  turn  of  punishment.  Some  dinners  are 
dear,  though  they  cost  nothing.  At  some  great  tables  are  not  toads 
served  along  with  the  entrees  ?  Yes,  and  many  amateurs  are  ex- 
ceedingly fond  of  the  dish. 

How  do  Parisians  live  at  all  ?  is  a  question  which  has  often  set 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     321 

me  wondering.  How  do  men  in  public  olfioes,  with  fifteen  thousand 
francs,  let  us  say,  for  a  salary — and  this,  for  a  French  official,  is  a 
high  salary — live  in  handsome  apartments;  give  genteel  entertain- 
ments ;  clothe  themselves  and  their  families  with  much  more 
sumptuous  raiment  than  English  people  of  the  same  station  can 
afibrd  ;  take  their  country  holiday,  a  six  weeks'  sojourn,  aux  eaux  ; 
and  appear  cheerful  and  to  want  for  nothing?  Paterfamilias,  with 
six  hundred  a  year  in  London,  knows  what  a  straitened  life  his 
is,  with  lent  high,  and  beef  at  a  sliilling  a  pound.  Well,  in  Paris, 
rent  is  higher,  and  meat  is  deai-er ;  and  yet  Madame  is  richly 
dressed  when  you  see  her ;  Monsieur  has  always  a  little  money  in 
his  pocket  for  his  club  or  his  cafe ;  and  something  is  pretty  surely 
|)ut  away  every  year  for  the  marriage  portion  of  the  young  folks. 
"  Sir,"  Philip  used  to  say,  describing  this  period  of  his  hfe,  on 
which  and  on  most  subjects  regarding  himself,  by  the  way,  he  was 
wont  to  be  very  eloquent,  "when  my  income  was  raised  to  five 
thousand  francs  a  year,  I  give  you  my  word  I  was  considered  to  be 
rich  by  my  French  acquaintance.  I  gave  four  sous  to  the  waiter 
at  our  dining-place  : — in  that  respect  I  was  always  ostentatious  : — 
and  I  believe  they  called  me  Milor.  I  should  liave  been  poor  in 
the  Rue  de  la  Paix  :  but  I  was  wealthy  in  the  Luxembourg  quarter. 
Don't  tell  me  about  poverty,  sir !  Poverty  is  a  bully  if  you  are 
afraid  of  her,  or  truckle  to  her.  Poverty  is  good-natured  enough 
if  you  meet  her  like  a  man.  You  saw  how  my  poor  old  father 
was  afraid  of  her,  and  thought  the  world  Avould  come  to  an  end  if 
Dr.  Firmin  did  not  keep  his  butler,  and  his  footman,  and  his  fine 
liouse,  and  fine  chariot  and  horses  %  He  was  a  poor  man,  if  you 
j)lease.  He  must  have  sufiered  agonies  in  his  struggle  to  make 
both  ends  meet.  Everything  he  bought  must  have  cost  him  twice 
the  honest  pritte ;  and  when  I  think  of  nights  that  must  have  been 
passed  without  sleep — of  that  proud  man  having  to  smirk  and 
(;ringe  before  creditors — to  coax  butchers,  by  George,  and  wheedle 
tailors — I  pity  him;  I  can't  be  angry  anymore.  That  man  has 
suffered  enough.  As  for  me,  haven't  you  remarked  that  since  I 
have  not  a  guinea  in  the  worhl,  I  swagger,  and  am  a  mucli  greater 
swell  than  before  1 "  And  the  truth  is  tliat  a  Prince  Royal  could 
not  have  called  for  his  r/c».s  with  a  more  magnificent  air  than 
Mr.  Philip  when  he  sumnioncd  the  waiter,  and  paid  for  hi.s  2)etit 
verre. 

Talk  of  poverty,  indeed  !  That  period,  Philip  vows,  was  the 
happiest  of  his  life.  He  liked  to  tell  in  after  days  of  the  choice 
ac(|uaintun(c  of  Bohemians  which  he  had  formed.  Their  jug,  he 
said,  though  it  contained  but  small  beer,  was  always  full.  Their 
tobacco,  though  it  bore  no  higher  rank  than  that  of  cajyoral.  was 
11  X 


322  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

plentiful  and  fragrant.  He  knew  some  admirable  medical  students ; 
some  artists  who  only  wanted  talent  and  industry  to  be  at  the 
height  of  their  profession ;  and  one  or  two  of  the  magnates  of  his 
own  calling,  the  newspaper  correspondents,  whose  houses  and 
tables  were  open  to  him.  It  was  wonderful  what  secrets  of  politics 
he  learned  and  transmitted  to  his  own  paper.  He  pursued  French 
statesmen  of  those  days  with  prodigious  eloquence  and  vigour. 
At  the  expense  of  that  old  King  he  was  wonderfully  watty  and 
sarcastical.  He  reviewed  the  aftuirs  of  Europe,  settled  the  destinies 
of  Russia,  denouiiced  the  Spanish  marriages,  disposed  of  the  Pope, 
and  advocated  the  Liberal  cause  in  France  with  an  untiring  elo- 
quence. "Absinthe  used  to  be  my  drink,  sir,"  so  he  was  good 
enough  to  tell  his  friends.  "  It  makes  the  ink  run,  and  imparts 
a  fine  eloquence  to  the  style.  Mercy  upon  us,  how  I  would 
belabour  that  poor  King  of  the  French  under  the  influence  of 
absinthe,  in  that  cafe  opposite  the  Bourse  where  I  used  to  make 
my  letter !  Who  knows,  sir,  perhaps  the  influence  of  those  letters 
precipitated  the  fall  of  the  Bourbon  dynasty  !  Before  I  had  an 
office,  Gilligan,  of  the  Century,  and  I,  used  to  do  our  letters 
at  that  caf^ ;  we  compared  notes  and  pitched  into  each  other 
amicably." 

Gilligan  of  the  Century,  and  Firmin  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
were,  however,  very  minor  personages  amongst  the  London  news- 
paper correspondents.  Their  seniors  of  the  daily  press  had  hand- 
some apartments,  gave  sumptuous  dinners,  were  closeted  with 
Ministers'  secretaries,  and  entertained  members  of  the  Chamber 
of  Deputies.  Philip,  on  perfectly  easy  terms  with  himself  and  the 
world,  swaggering  about  the  Embassy  balls — Philip,  the  friend  and 
relative  of  Lord  Ringwood — was  viewed  by  his  professional  seniors 
and  superiors  with  an  eye  of  favour,  which  was  not  certainly  turned 
on  all  gentlemen  following  his  calling.  Certainly  poor  Gilligan  was 
never  asked  to  those  dinners  which  some  of  the  newspaper  ambas- 
sadors gave,  whereas  Philip  was  received  not  inhospitably.  Gilligan 
received  but  a  cold  shoulder  at  Mrs.  Morning  Messenger's  Thursdays  ; 
and  as  for  being  asked  to  dinner,  "  Bedad,  that  fellow,  Firmin,  has 
an  air  with  him  which  will  carry  him  through  anywhere ! "  Phil's 
brother  correspondent  owned.  "  He  seems  to  patronise  an  am- 
bassador when  he  goes  up  and  speaks  to  him ;  and  he  says  to  a 
secretary,  'My  good  fellow,  tell  your  master  that  Mr.  Firmin,  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  wants  to  see  him,  and  will  thank  him  to 
step  over  to  the  Caf^  de  la  Bourse.' "  I  don't  think  Philip,  for  his 
part,  would  have  seen  much  matter  of  surprise  in  a  Minister  stepping 
over  to  s})eak  to  him.  To  him  all  folk  were  alike,  great  and  small ; 
and  it  is  recorded  of  him  that  when,  on  one  occasion.  Lord  Ringwood 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      323 

paid  him  a  visit  at  his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  Philip 
affably  offered  his  Lordship  a  cornet  of  fried  potatoes,  with  which, 
and  jilentiful  tobacco  of  course,  Pliilip  and  one  or  two  of  his  friends 
were  regaling  themselves  when  Lord  RingW(jod  chanced  to  call  on 
liis  kinsman. 

A  crust  and  a  carafon  of  small  beer,  a  correfii)ondence  with  a 
weekly  paper,  and  a  remuneration  such  as  tliat  we  have  mentioned 
— was  Philij*  Firmin  to  look  for  no  more  than  this  jiittance,  and 
not  to  seek  for  more  i)ermanent  and  lucrative  employment  1  Some 
of  his  friends  at  home  were  rather  vexed  at  what  Pliilip  chose  to 
consider  his  good  fortune  ;  namely,  his  connection  with  tlie  news- 
])aper,  and  the  small  stipend  it  gave  him.  He  might  quarrel  with 
liis  employer  any  day.  Indeed  no  man  was  more  likely  to  fling 
liis  bread  and  butter  out  of  window  than  Mr.  Philip.  Ue  was 
losing  precious  time  at  the  bar;  where  he,  as  hundreds  of  other 
poor  gentlemen  had  done  before  him,  might  make  a  career  for 
liimself.  For  what  are  colonies  made"?  Why  do  bankrn])tcies 
occur?  Why  do  ])eoi)le  break  the  peace  and  cpiarrel  Avith  policemen, 
but  that  barristers  may  be  employed  as  judges,  commissioners, 
magistrates'?  A  rei)orter  to  a  newspaper  remains  all  his  life  a 
newspaper  reporter.  Philip,  if  lie  would  but  help  himself,  had 
friends  in  the  world  who  might  aid  effectually  to  advance  him.  So 
it  was  we  pleaded  with  him,  in  the  language  of  moderation,  urging 
the  dictates  of  common  sense.  As  if  moderation  and  common  sense 
could  be  got  to  move  that  nuile  of  a  Philip  Firmin ;  as  if  any 
persuasion  of  ours  could  induce  him  to  do  anything  but  what  he 
liked  to  do  best  himself! 

"That  you  should  be  worldly,  my  poor  fellow"  (so  Piiilij)  wrote 
to  his  present  biographer)  — "  that  you  should  be  thinking  of  money 
and  tlie  main  chance,  is  no  matter  of  sui-prise  to  me.  You  have 
suffered  under  that  curse  of  manhood,  that  destroyer  of  generosity 
in  the  mind,  that  ])arcnt  of  selfishness — a  little  fortune.  You  have 
your  wretched  hundreds"  (my  candid  correspondent  stated  the  sum 
correctly  enough  ;  and  I  wisli  it  were  double  or  treble  ;  but  that 
is  not  here  the  point:)  "paid  quarterly.  The  miserable  i)ittance 
numbs  your  whole  existence.  It  jjrevents  freedf)in  of  thought  and 
action.  It  makes  a  screw  of  a  man  wiio  is  certainly  not  without 
generous  impulses,  as  I  know,  my  poor  old  Harpagon  :  for  hast  thou 
not  offered  to  open  thy  ])urse  to  me  ?  I  tell  you  I  am  sick  of  the 
way  in  which  people  in  London,  especially  good  people,  think  about 
money.  You  live  up  to  your  income's  edge.  You  are  miserably 
j)oor.  You  brag  and  flatter  yourselves  that  you  owe  no  man  any- 
thing ;  but  your  estate  has  creditors  upon  it  as  insatiable  as  any 


324  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

usurer,  and  as  hard  as  any  bailiff.  You  call  me  reckless,  and 
prodigal,  and  idle,  and  all  sorts  of  names,  because  I  live  in  a  single 
room,  do  as  little  work  as  I  can,  and  go  about  with  holes  in  my 
boots  :  and  you  flatter  yourself  you  are  prudent,  because  you  have  a 
genteel  house,  a  grave  flunkey  out  of  livery,  and  two  greengrocers 
to  wait  when  you  give  your  half-dozen  dreary  dinner-parties. 
Wretched  man  !  You  are  a  slave  :  not  a  man.  You  are  a  pauper, 
with  a  good  house  and  good  clothes.  You  are  so  miserably  prudent, 
that  all  your  money  is  spent  for  you,  except  the  few  wretched 
shillings  which  you  allow  yourself  for  pocket-money.  You  tremble 
at  the  expense  of  a  cab.  I  believe  you  actually  look  at  half-a-crown 
before  you  spend  it.  The  landlord  is  your  master.  The  livery- 
stablekeeper  is  your  master.  A  train  of  ruthless  useless  servants 
are  your  pitiless  creditors,  to  whom  you  have  to  pay  exorbitant 
dividends  every  day.  I,  with  a  hole  in  my  elbow,  who  live  upon  a 
shilling  dinner,  and  walk  on  cracked  boot  soles,  am  called  extrava- 
gant, idle,  reckless,  I  don't  know  what;  while  you,  forsooth,  con- 
sider yourself  prudent.  Miserable  delusion  !  You  are  flinging  away 
heaps  of  money  on  useless  flvuikeys,  on  useless  maiil-servants,  on 
useless  lodgings,  on  useless  finery — and  you  say,  '  Poor  Phil !  what 
a  sad  idler  he  is  !  how  he  flings  himself  away  !  in  what  a  wretched 
disreputable  manner  he  lives  ! '  Poor  Plnl  is  as  rich  as  you  are,  for 
he  has  enougli,  and  is  content.  Poor  Phil  can  afford  to  be  idle,  and 
you  can't.  You  uuist  work  in  order  to  keep  that  great  hulking  foot- 
man, that  great  rawboned  cook,  that  army  of  babbling  nursery-maids, 
and  I  don't  know  what  more.  And  if  you  choose  to  submit  to  the 
slavery  and  degradation  inseparal)le  from  your  condition ;  —  the 
wretched  inspection  of  canille-ends,  which  you  call  order ;  the  mean 
self-denials,  which  you  must  daily  practise — I  pity  you,  and  don't 
quarrel  with  you.  But  I  wish  you  would  not  be  so  insufferably 
virtuous,  and  ready  with  your  blame  and  pity  for  me.  If  I  am 
happy,  pray  need  you  be  disquieted?  Suppose  I  prefer  independ- 
en(!e,  and  shabby  boots  ?  Are  not  these  better  than  to  be  jiinched 
by  your  abominal)le  varnished  conventionalism,  and  to  be  denied 
the  liberty  of  free  action  1  My  poor  fellow,  I  pity  you  from  my 
heart ;  and  it  grieves  me  to  think  how  those  fine  honest  childi-en — 
honest,  and  hearty,  and  frank,  and  open  as  yet — are  to  lose  their 
natural  good  qualities,  and  to  be  swathed,  and  swaddled,  and  stifled 
out  of  health  and  honesty  by  that  obstinate  worldling  their  father. 
Don't  tell  me  aliout  the  world  ;  I  know  it.  People  sacrifice  the  next 
world  to  it,  and  are  all  the  while  proud  of  their  prudence.  Look 
at  my  miserable  relations,  steeped  in  respectability.  Look  at  my 
father.  There  is  a  chance  for  him,  now  he  is  down  and  in  poverty. 
I   have   iiad   a  letter  from  him,   containing  more  of  that  dreadful 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     .325 

worldly  advice  which  you  Pharisees  give.  If  it  weren't  for  Laura 
and  the  children,  sir,  I  heartily  wish  you  were  ruined  like  your 
aflFectionate  P-  F. 

"XT?.,  P.-S'.— Oh,  Pen  !  I  au)  so  hai)py  !  She  is  such  a  little 
darling  !  I  bathe  in  her  iiuiocence,  sir!  I  strengthen  myself  in  her 
[)urity.  I  kneel  before  her  sweet  goodness  and  iniconsciousness  of 
guile.  I  walk  from  my  room,  and  see  her  every  morning  before 
seven  o'clock.  I  see  her  every  afternoon.  She  loves  you  and  Laura. 
And  you  love  her,  don't  you'?  And  to  think  that  six  months  ago  I 
was  going  to  marry  a  woman  without  a  heart  !  Why,  sir,  blessings 
l)e  on  the  poor  old  father  for  spending  our  money,  and  rescuing  me 
from  that  horrible  fate  !  I  might  have  been  like  that  fellow  in  the 
'  Aral)ian  Nights,'  who  married  Aniina — the  resiiectable  Avoman,  who 
dined  upon  grains  of  rice,  but  sui)ped  upon  ct)ld  dead  body.  Was  it 
not  worth  all  the  money  I  ever  was  heir  to  to  have  escaped  from  that 
ghoul  ?  Lord  Ringwood  says  he  thinks  I  was  well  out  of  that.  He 
calls  people  by  Anglo-Saxon  names,  and  uses  very  expressive  mono- 
syllables ;  and  of  Aunt  Twysden,  of  Uncle  Twysden,  of  the  girls, 
and  their  lirother,  he  speaks  in  a  way  which  makes  me  see  he  has 
come  to  just  conclusions  about  them. 

"P.S.  No.  2.— Ah,  Pen  !  She  is  such  a  darling.  I  think  I  am 
the  haj»})icst  man  in  the  world." 

And  this  was  what  came  of  being  nu'ned  !  A  scapegrace,  who, 
when  he  had  jdenty  of  money  in  his  pocket,  was  ill-tempered, 
imperious,  and  discontented  ;  now  that  he  is  not  Avorth  twopence, 
declares  himself  the  happiest  fellow  in  the  world  !  Do  you  remem- 
ber, my  dear,  how  he  used  to  grumble  at  our  claret,  and  what  wry 
faces  he  made  when  there  was  only  cold  meat  for  dinner]  The 
wretch  is  absolutely  contented  with  bread  and  cheese  and  small-beer, 
even  that  bad  beer  which  they  have  in  Paris  ! 

Now  and  again,  at  this  time,  and  as  our  mutual  avocations  per- 
mitted, I  saw  Philip's  friend,  the  Little  Sister.  He  wrote  to  her 
dutifully  from  time  to  time.  He  told  her  of  his  love  affair  with 
Miss  Charlotte  ;  and  my  wife  and  I  could  console  Caroline,  by  assur- 
ing her  that  this  time  the  young  man's  heart  was  given  to  a  worthy 
n)istress.  I  say  console,  ihr  the  news,  after  all,  was  sad  for  her.  In 
the  little  chamber  which  she  always  ke})t  ready  for  him,  he  would 
lie  awake,  and  think  of  some  one  dearer  to  him  than  a  hundred  poor 
Carolines.  She  would  devise  something  that  shoulil  be  agreeable  to 
the  young  lady.  At  Christmas  time  there  came  to  Miss  Baynes  a 
wonderfully  worked  cambric  pocket-handkerchief,  AAith  "Charlotte" 
most    beautifully    embroidered    in    the    corner.     It  was   this  poor 


326  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

widow's  mite  of  love  and  tenderness  which  she  meekly  laid  down  in 
the  place  where  she  worshipped.  "And  I  have  six  for  him,  too, 
ma'am,"  Mrs.  Brandon  told  my  wife.  "  Poor  fellow  !  his  shirts  was 
in  a  dreadful  way  when  he  went  away  from  here,  and  that  you  know, 
ma'am."  So  you  see  this  wayfarer,  having  fallen  among  undoubted 
thieves,  yet  found  many  kind  souls  to  relieve  him,  and  many  a  good 
Samaritan  ready  witli  his  twopence,  if  need  were. 

The  reason  why  Philip  was  the  happiest  man  in  the  world  of 
course  you  understand.  French  people  are  very  early  risers  ;  and, 
at  the  little  hotel  where  Mr.  Philip  lived,  the  whole  crew  of  the 
house  were  up  hours  before  lazy  English  masters  and  servants  think 
of  stirring.  At  ever  so  early  an  hour  Phil  had  a  fine  bowl  of  coffee 
and  milk  and  bread  for  his  breakfast ;  and  he  was  striding  down  to 
the  Invalides,  and  across  the  bridge  to  the  Champs  Elysdes,  and  the 
fumes  of  his  pipe  preceded  him  with  a  pleasant  odour.  And  a  short 
time  after  passing  the  Rond  Point  in  the  Elysian  fields,  where  an 
active  fountain  was  flinging  up  showers  of  diamonds  to  the  sky, — 
after,  I  say,  leaving  the  Rond  Point  on  his  right,  and  passing  under 
umbrageous  groves  in  the  direction  of  the  present  Castle  of  Flowers, 
Mr.  Philip  would  see  a  little  person.  Sometimes  a  young  sister  or 
brother  came  with  the  little  person.  Sometimes  only  a  blush 
fluttered  on  her  cheek,  and  a  sweet  smile  beamed  in  her  face  as  she 
came  forward  to  greet  him.  For  the  angels  were  scarce  purer  than 
this  young  maid ;  and  Una  was  no  more  afraid  of  the  lion,  than 
Charlotte  of  her  companion  with  the  loud  voice  and  the  tawny 
mane.  I  would  not  have  envied  that  reprobate's  lot  who  should 
have  dared  to  say  a  doubtful  word  to  this  Una :  but  the  truth  is, 
she  never  thought  of  danger,  or  met  with  any.  The  workmen  were 
going  to  their  labour ;  the  dandies  were  asleep ;  and  considering 
their  age,  and  the  relationship  in  which  they  stood  to  one  another, 
I  am  not  surprised  at  Philip  for  announcing  that  this  was  the 
happiest  time  of  his  life.  In  later  days,  when  two  gentlemen  of 
mature  age  happened  to  be  in  Paris  together,  what  must  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin  do  but  insist  upon  walking  me  sentimentally  to  the  Champs 
Elys^es,  and  looking  at  an  old  house  there,  a  rather  shabby  old  house 
in  a  garden.  "  That  was  the  place,"  sighs  he.  "  That  was  Madame 
de  Smolensk's.  That  was  the  window,  the  third  one,  with  the  green 
jalousie.  By  Jove,  sir,  how  happy  and  how  miserable  I  have  been 
behind  that  green  blind  !  "  And  my  friend  shakes  his  large  fist  at 
the  somewhat  dilapidated  mansion,  whence  Madame  de  Smolensk 
and  her  boarders  have  long  since  departed. 

I  fear  that  Baroness  had  engaged  in  her  enterprise  with  insuffi- 
cient capital,  or  conducted  it  with  such  liberality  that  her  profits 
were  eaten  up  by  her  boarders.     I  could  tell  dreadful  stories  im- 


MORXING    ORKKTIN'GS. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      .327 

pugniug  the  Baroness's  moral  character.  People  said  she  had  no 
right  to  the  title  of  Baroness  at  all,  or  to  the  noble  foreign  name  of 
Smolensk.  People  are  still  alive  who  knew  her  under  a  different 
name.  The  Baroness  herself  was  what  some  amateurs  call  a  fine 
woman,  especially  at  dinner-time,  when  she  appeared  in  black  satin 
and  with  cheeks  that  blushed  up  as  far  as  the  eyelids.  In  her 
peignoir-  in  the  morning,  she  was  perhaps  the  reverse  of  fine. 
Contours  which  were  round  at  night,  in  the  forenoon  appeared  lean 
and  angular.  Her  roses  only  bloomed  half-an-hour  before  dinner- 
time on  a  cheek  wliich  was  quite  yellow  until  five  o'clock.  I  am 
sure  it  is  very  kind  of  elderly  and  ill-complexioned  people  to  supply 
the  ravages  of  time  or  jaundice,  and  present  to  our  view  a  figure 
blooming  and  agreeable,  in  place  of  an  object  faded  and  withered. 
Do  you  quarrel  with  your  opposite  neighbour  for  ])ainting  his  house 
front  or  putting  roses  in  his  balcony  1  You  are  rather  tliankful  for 
the  adornment.  Madame  de  Smolensk's  front  was  so  decorated  of 
afternoons.  Geraniums  were  set  pleasantly  iinder  those  first-floor 
windows,  her  eyes.  Carcel  lamps  beamed  from  those  windows : 
lamps  which  she  had  trimmed  with  her  own  scissors,  and  into  which 
that  poor  widow  poured  the  oil  which  she  got  somehow  and  anyhow. 
When  the  dingy  breakfast  jxtpillotes  were  cast  of  an  afternoon, 
what  beautiful  black  curls  appeared  round  her  brow  !  The  dingy 
jxipillotes  were  put  away  in  the  drawer :  the  jm'r/noir  retired  to 
its  hook  behind  the  door :  the  satin  raiment  came  forth,  the 
shining,  tlie  ancient,  the  well-kept,  the  well- wadded :  and  at  the 
same  moment  the  worthy  woman  took  that  smile  out  of  some 
cunning  box  on  her  scanty  toilet-table — that  smile  which  she  wore 
all  the  evening  along  with  the  rest  of  her  toilette,  and  took  out 
of  her  mouth  when  she  went  to  bed  and  to  think — to  think  how 
both  ends  Avere  to  be  made  to  meet. 

Philip  said  he  respected  and  admired  that  woman  :  and  worthy 
of  resi)e(;t  she  was  in  her  way.  She  i)ainted  her  face  and  grinned 
at  poverty.  She  laughed  and  rattled  with  care  gnawing  at  her 
side.  She  had  to  coax  the  milkman  out  of  his  human  kindness : 
to  pour  oil — his  own  oil — ui)on  the  stormy  ejncier's  soul  :  to  melt 
tlie  butterman  :  to  taj)  the  wine  merchant :  to  mollify  the  butcher  : 
to  invent  new  pretexts  for  the  landlord :  to  reconcile  the  lady- 
boarders,  i\Irs.  General  Baynes,  let  us  say,  and  the  Honourable 
]\Irs.  Boldero,  who  were  always  quarrelling  :  to  see  that  the  dinner, 
when  procured,  was  (iookeil  properly ;  that  Francois,  to  whom  she 
owed  ever  so  many  months'  wages,  Avas  not  too  rebellious  or  in- 
toxicated ;  that  Auguste,  also  her  creditor,  had  his  glass  clean  and 
Ids  lami)s  in  order.  And  this  work  done  and  the  hour  of  six  o'clock 
arriving,  slie  had  to  carve  and  be  agreeable  to  her  table ;   not  to 


328  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

hear  the  growls  of  the  discontented  (and  at  what  table-d'hote  are 
there  not  grumblers  ?) ;  to  have  a  word  for  everybody  present ;  a 
smile  and  a  laugh  for  Mrs.  Bunch  (with  whom  there  had  been 
very  likely  a  dreadful  row  in  the  morning) ;  a  remark  for  the 
Colonel ;  a  polite  phrase  for  the  General's  lady ;  and  even  a  good 
word  and  compliment  for  sulky  Auguste,  who  just  before  dinner- 
time had  unfolded  the  napkin  of  mutiny  about  his  wages. 

Was  not  tliis  enough  work  for  a  woman  to  do?  To  conduct 
a  great  house  without  sufficient  money,  and  make  soup,  fish,  roasts, 
and  half-a-dozen  entries  out  of  wind  as  it  were?  to  conjure  up 
wine  in  piece  and  by  the  dozen?  to  laugh  and  joke  without  the 
least  gaiety  ?  to  receive  scorn,  abuse,  rebuffs,  insolence,  with  gay 
good-humour?  and  then  to  go  to  bed  wearied  at  night,  and  have 
to  think  about  figures  and  that  dreadful  dreadful  sum  in  arithmetic 
— given  £5  to  pay  <£6  ?  Lady  Macbeth  is  supposed  to  have  been 
a  resolute  woman  :  and  great,  tall,  loud,  hectoring  females  are  set 
to  represent  the  character.  I  say  No.  She  was  a  weak  woman. 
She  began  to  walk  in  her  sleep,  and  blab  after  one  disagreeable 
little  incident  had  occurred  in  her  house.  She  broke  down,  and 
got  all  the  people  away  from  her  own  table  in  the  most  abrupt 
and  clumsy  manner,  because  that  drivelling  epileptic  husband  of 
hers  fancied  he  saw  a  ghost.  In  Lady  Smolensk's  place  Madame 
de  Macbeth  would  have  broken  down  in  a  week,  and  Smolensk 
lasted  for  years.  If  twenty  gibbering  ghosts  had  come  to  the 
boarding-house  dinner,  Madame  would  have  gone  on  carving  her 
dishes,  and  smiling  and  helping  the  live  guests,  the  paying  guests ; 
leaving  the  dead  guests  to  gibber  away  and  help  themselves.  "  My 
poor  father  had  to  keep  up  appearances,"  Piiil  would  say,  recount- 
ing these  things  in  after  days  •  "  but  how  ?  You  know  he  always 
looked  as  if  he  was  going  to  be  hanged."  Smolensk  was  the 
gayest  of  the  gay  always.  That  widow  would  have  tripped  up  to 
her  funeral  pile  and  kissed  her  hands  to  her  friends  with  a  smiling 
"  Bon  jour  !  " 

"  Pray,  who  was  Monsieur  de  Smolensk  ? "  asks  a  simple  lady 
who  may  be  listening  to  our  friend's  narrative. 

"Ah,  my  dear  lady!  There  was  a  pretty  disturbance  in  the 
house  when  that  question  came  to  be  mooted,  I  promise  you,"  says 
our  friend,  laughing,  as  he  recounts  his  adventures.  And,  after  all, 
what  does  it  matter  to  you  and  me  and  this  story  who  Smolensk 
was  ?  I  am  sure  this  poor  lady  had  hardships  enough  in  her  life 
campaign,  and  that  Ney  himself  could  not  have  faced  fortune  with 
a  constancy  more  heroical. 

Well.  When  the  Bayneses  first  came  to  her  house,  I  tell  you 
Smolensk  and  all  round  her  smiled,  and  our  friends  thought  they 


ON    HIS   WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      329 

were  landed  in  a  real  rosy  Elysium  in  the  Champs  of  that  name. 
Madame  had  a  Carrick  a  Vlndienne  prepared  in  compliment 
to  her  guests.  She  had  had  many  Indians  in  her  establishment. 
She  adored  Indians.  N'etait-ce  la  2Mly(iamie — they  were  most 
estimable  people  the  Hindus.  Surtout,  she  adored  Indian  shawls. 
That  of  Madame  la  Gendrale  was  ravislnng.  The  company  at 
Madame's  was  pleasant.  The  Honourable  Mrs.  Boldero  was  a 
(lashing  woman  of  fasliion  and  respectability,  who  had  lived  in  the 
best  world — it  was  easy  to  see  that.  The  young  ladies'  duets 
were  very  striking.  The  Honourable  ]\Ir.  Boldero  was  away 
shooting  in  Scotland  at  his  brother,  Lord  Strongitharm's,  and 
would  take  Gaberlunzie  Castle  and  the  Duke's  on  his  way  south. 
Mrs.  Baynes  did  not  know  Lady  Estridge,  the  ambassadress? 
When  tiie  Estridges  returned  from  Chantilly,  the  Honourable 
Mrs.  B.  would  be  delighted  to  introduce  her.  "Your  pretty 
girl's  name  is  Charlotte  ?  So  is  Lady  Estridge's — and  very  nearly 
as  tall ; — fine  girls  the  Estridges  ;  fine  long  necks — large  feet — but 
your  girl,  Lady  Baynes,  has  beautiful  feet.  Lady  Baynes,  I  said  ? 
Well,  you  nmst  be  Lady  Baynes  soon.  The  General  imist  be  a 
K.C.B.  after  his  services.  What,  you  know  Lord  Trim  1  He  will, 
and  must,  do  it  for  you.  If  not,  my  brother  Strongitliarm  shall." 
I  have  no  d(nil)t  ]\Irs.  Baynes  was  greatly  elated  by  the  attentions 
of  Lord  Strongitharm's  sister ;  and  looked  him  out  in  the  Peerage, 
where  his  Lordship's  arms,  pedigree,  and  residence  of  Gaberlunzie 
Castle  are  duly  recorded.  The  Honourable  Mrs.  Boldero's 
daughters,  the  Misses  Minna  and  Brcnda  Boldero,  played  some 
rattlmg  sonatas  on  a  piano  which  was  a  good  deal  fatigued  by 
their  exertions,  for  the  young  ladies'  hands  were  very  powerful. 
And  Madame  said,  "  Thank  you,"  with  her  sweetest  smile ;  and 
Auguste  handed  about  on  a  silver  tray — I  say  silver,  so  that  the 
convenances  may  not  be  wounded — well,  say  silver  that  was  blush- 
ing to  find  itself  copper— handed  up  on  a  tray  a  white  drink 
which  made  the  Baynes  boys  cry  out,  "I  say,  mother,  what's 
tliis  beastly  thing"?"  On  which  Madame,  with  the  sweetest  smile, 
a|)pealed  to  the  company,  and  said,  "  They  love  orgeat,  these  dear 
infants!"  and  resumed  her  picquet  with  old  M.  Bidois — that  odd 
old  gentleman  in  the  long  brown  coat,  with  the  red  ribbon,  who 
took  so  much  snufi"  and  blew  his  nose  so  often  and  so  loudly.  One, 
two,  three  rattling  sonatas  Minna  and  Brenda  played  ;  Mr.  Clancy, 
of  Trinity  College,  Dublin  (M.  de  Clanci,  Madame  called  him), 
turning  over  the  leaves,  and  presently  being  persuaded  to  sing  some 
Irish  melodies  for  the  ladies.  I  don't  think  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes 
listened  to  the  music  much.  She  was  listening  to  another  music, 
which  she  and  l\Ir.   Firmin  were   performing  together.      Oh,  how 


330  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

pleasant  tliat  music  used  to  be  !  There  was  a  sameness  in  it,  I 
daresay,  but  still  it  was  pleasant  to  hear  the  air  over  again.  The 
pretty  little  duet  a  qiiatre  mains,  where  the  hands  cross  over,  and 
hop  up  and  down  the  keys,  and  the  heads  get  so  close,  so  close. 
Oh,  duets,  oh,  regrets !  Psha !  no  more  of  this.  Go  downstairs, 
old  dotard.  Take  your  hat  and  umbrella  and  go  walk  by  the  sea- 
shore, and  whistle  a  toothless  old  solo.  "  These  are  our  quiet 
nights,"  whispers  M.  de  Clanci  to  the  Baynes  ladies,  when  the 
evening  draws  to  an  end.  "  Madame's  Thursdays  are,  I  promise 
ye,  much  more  fully  attended."  Good-night,  good-niglit.  A 
squeeze  of  a  little  hand,  a  hearty  hand-shake  from  papa  and 
mamma,  and  Philip  is  striding  through  the  dark  Elysian  fields 
and  over  the  Place  of  Concord  to  his  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St. 
Germain.  Or,  stay  !  What  is  that  glowworm  beaming  by  the 
wall  opposite  Madame  de  Smolensk's  house  ! — a  glowworm  that 
wafts  an  aromatic  incense  and  odour?  I  do  believe  it  is  Mr. 
Philip's  cigar.  And  he  is  watching,  watching  a  window  by  which 
a  slim  figure  flits  now  and  again.  Then  darkness  falls  on  the 
little  window.  The  sweet  eyes  are  closed.  Oh,  blessings,  blessings 
be  upon  them  !  The  stars  shine  overhead.  And  homeward  stalks 
Mr.  Firmin,  talking  to  himself,  and  brandishing  a  great  stick. 

I  wish  that  poor  Madame  Smolensk  could  sleep  as  well  as 
the  people  in  her  house.  But  care,  with  the  cold  feet,  gets  under 
the  coverlid,  and  says,  "  Here  I  am  ;  you  know  that  bill  is  coming 
due  to-morrow."  Ah,  atra  cura  !  can't  you  leave  the  poor  thing 
a  little  quiet  ]     Hasn't  she  had  work  enoixgh  all  day  ? 


CHAPTER  XX 

COURSE  OF   TRUE  LOVE 

WE  beg  the  gracious  reader  to  remember  that  Mr.  Philip's 
business  at  Paris  was  only  with  a  weekly  London  paper 
as  yet ;  and  hence  that  he  had  on  his  hands  a  great  deal 
of  leisure.  He  could  glance  over  the  state  of  Europe ;  give  the 
latest  news  from  the  salons,  im[)arted  to  him,  I  do  believe,  for  the 
most  ])art,  by  some  brother  hireling  scribes ;  be  present  at  all  the 
tiieatres  by  deputy  ;  and  smash  Louis  Pliilij)pe  or  Messieurs  Guizot 
and  Thiers  in  a  few  easily  turned  paragrai)hs,  which  cost  but  a  very 
i'o.w  hours'  labour  to  tliat  bold  and  rapid  pen.  A  wholesome  though 
humiliating  thought  it  must  be  to  great  and  learned  public  writers, 
that  their  eloquent  sermims  are  but  for  the  day  ;  and  that,  having 
read  what  the  philosoi)hers  say  on  Tuesday  or  Wednesday,  we 
think  about  their  yesterday's  sermons  or  essays  no  more.  A  score 
of  years  hence,  men  will  read  the  papers  of  18G1  for  the  occurrences 
narrated — births,  marriages,  bankruptcies,  elections,  murders,  deaths, 
and  so  forth  ;  and  not  for  the  leading  articles.  "  Though  tliere 
were  some  of  my  letters,"  Mr.  Philip  would  say  in  after  times, 
"  that  I  fondly  ftincied  the  world  would  not  Avillingly  let  die.  I 
wanted  to  liave  them  or  see  them  reprinted  in  a  volume,  but  I 
could  find  no  publisher  willing  to  undertake  the  risk.  A  fond 
being,  who  fancies  there  is  genius  in  everything  I  say  or  write, 
would  have  had  me  reprint  my  letters  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ; 
but  I  was  too  timid,  or  she,  perhaps,  was  too  confident.  The 
letters  never  were  republished.  Let  them  i)ass."  Tli(!y  have 
passed.  And  he  sighs  in  mentioning  this  circumstance  ;  and  I 
think  tries  to  persuade  himself,  rather  than  others,  that  he  is  an 
unrecognised  genius. 

"And  then,  you  know,"  he  pleads,  "I  was  in  love,  sir,  and 
spending  all  my  days  at  Omphale's  knees.  I  didn't  do  justice  to 
my  powers.  If  I  had  had  a  daily  paper,  I  still  think  I  might  have 
made  a  good  public  writer;  and  tliat  I  had  the  stuff  in  me— the 
stuff  in  me,  sir  !  " 

The  tnith  is  that,  if  he  had  had  a  daily  jiajjcr,  and  ten  times 
as  much  work  as  fell  to  his  lot,  Mr.  Philip  m  ould  have  found  jueans 


332  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of  pursuing  his  inclination,  as  he  ever  through  life  has  done.  The 
being  whom  a  young  man  wishes  to  see,  he  sees.  What  business  is 
superior  to  that  of  seeing  her?  'Tis  a  little  Hcllespontine  matter 
keeps  Leander  from  his  Hero  ?  He  would  die  rather  than  not  see 
her.  Had  he  swum  out  of  that  difficulty  on  that  stormy  night, 
and  carried  on  a  few  months  later,  it  might  have  been,  "  Beloved  ! 
my  cold  and  rheumatism  are  so  severe  that  the  doctor  says  I  must 
not  think  of  cold  bathing  at  night ;  "  or  "  Dearest !  we  have  a  party 
at  tea,  and  you  mustn't  expect  your  ever  fond  Lambda  to-night," 
and  so  fortii,  and  so  forth.  But  in  the  heat  of  his  passion  water 
could  not  stay  him  ;  tempests  could  not  frighten  him  ;  and  in  one 
of  them  he  went  down,  while  poor  Hero's  lamp  was  twinkling  and 
spending  its  best  flame  in  vain.  So  Philip  came  from  Sestos  to 
Abydos  daily — across  one  of  the  bridges,  and  i>!iying  a  halfpenny 
toll  very  likely — and,  late  or  early,  poor  little  Charlotte's  virgin 
lamps  were  lighted  in  her  eyes,  and  watching  for  him. 

Philip  made  many  sacrifices,  mind  you :  sacrifices  which  all  men 
are  not  in  the  habit  of  making.  When  Lord  Ringwood  was  in 
Paris,  twice,  thrice  he  refused  to  dine  with  his  Lordship,  until  that 
nobleman  smelt  a  rat,  as  the  saying  is — and  said,  "Well,  youngstei', 
I  suppose  you  are  going  where  there  is  metal  more  attractive. 
When  you  come  to  twelve  lustres,  my  boy,  you'll  find  vanity  and 
vexation  in  that  sort  of  thing,  and  a  good  dinner  better,  and  cheaper, 
too,  than  the  best  of  them."  And  when  some  of  Philip's  rich 
college  friends  met  him  in  his  exile,  and  asked  him  to  the  "Rocher" 
or  the  "Trois  Freres,"  he  would  break  away  from  those  banquets  ; 
and  as  for  meeting  at  those  feasts  doubtful  companions,  whom  young 
men  will  sometimes  invite  to  their  entertainments,  Philip  turned 
from  such  with  scorn  and  anger.  His  virtue  was  loud,  and  he 
proclaimed  it  loudly.  He  expected  little  Charlotte  to  give  him 
credit  for  it,  and  told  her  of  his  self-denial.  And  she  believed  any- 
thing he  said ;  and  delighted  in  everything  he  wrote ;  and  copied 
out  his  articles  for  the  Pnll  Mall  Gazette  ;  and  treasured  his  poems 
in  her  desk  of  desks :  and  there  never  was  in  all  Sestos,  in  all 
Abydos,  in  all  Europe,  in  all  Asia  Minor  or  Asia  Major,  such  a 
noble  creature  as  Leander,  Hero  thought ;  never,  never !  I  hope, 
young  ladies,  you  may  all  have  a  Leander,  on  his  way  to  the  tower 
where  the  light  of  your  love  is  burning  steadfastly.  I  hope,  young 
gentlemen,  you  have  each  of  you  a  beacon  in  sight,  and  may  meet 
with  no  mishap  in  swimming  to  it. 

From  my  previous  remarks  regarding  Mrs.  Baynes,  the  reader 
has  been  made  aware  that  the  General's  wfe  was  no  more  faultless 
than  the  rest  of  her  fellow-creatures  ;  and  having  already  candidly 
informed  the  public  that  the  Avriter  and  his  family  were  no  favourites 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    AVORLD     333 

of  tliis  lady,  I  have  now  tlie  pleasing  duty  of  recording  my  own 
opinions  regarding  her.  Mrs.  General  B.  was  an  early  riser.  She 
was  a  frugal  woman ;  find  of  her  young,  or,  let  us  say,  anxious  to 
provide  for  their  maintenance ;  and  here,  with  my  best  compli- 
ments, I  think  the  catalogue  of  her  good  qualities  is  ended.  She 
had  a  bad  violent  temper ;  a  disagreeable  person,  attired  in  very 
bad  taste;  a  shrieking  voice;  and  two  manners,  the  respectful  and 
tiie  patronising,  which  were  both  alike  odious.  When  she  ordered 
Baynes  to  marry  her,  gracious  powers  !  why  did  he  not  run  away  % 
Who  dared  first  to  say  that  marriages  are  made  in  heaven  %  We 
know  that  there  are  not  only  blunders,  but  roguery  in  the  marriage 
office.  Do  not  mistakes  occur  every  day,  and  are  not  the  wrong 
j)eople  coupled?  Had  Heaven  anytliing  to  do  with  the  bargain  by 
which  young  Miss  Blushrose  was  sold  to  old  Mr.  Hoarfrost?  Did 
Heaven  order  young  Miss  Tripjicr  to  tlirf)w  over  poor  Tom  Spooner, 
and  marry  the  wealthy  Mr.  Bung?  You  may  as  well  say  that 
horses  are  sold  in  heaven,  which,  as  you  know,  are  groomed,  are 
doctored,  are  chanted  on  to  the  market,  and  warranted  by  dexterous 
horse-vendors  as  possessing  every  quality  of  blood,  pace,  temper, 
age.  Against  these  Mr.  Greenhorn  has  his  remedy  sometimes ;  but 
against  a  mother  wiio  sells  you  a  Avarranted  daughter,  what 
remedy  is  there  ?  You  have  been  jockeyed  by  false  representations 
into  bidding  for  the  Cecilia,  and  the  animal  is  yours  for  life.  She 
shies,  kicks,  stumliles,  has  an  infernal  temper,  is  a  crib-biter — and 
she  was  warranted  to  you  by  her  mother  as  the  most  perfect  good- 
tempered  creature,  Avhom  the  most  timid  might  manage  !  You  have 
bought  her.  She  is  yours.  Heaven  bless  you  !  Take  her  home, 
and  be  miserable  for  the  rest  of  your  days.  You  have  no  redress. 
You  have  done  the  deed.  Marriages  were  made  in  heaven,  you 
know ;  and  in  yours  you  were  as  much  sold  as  Moses  Primrose  was 
when  he  bought  the  gross  of  green  spectacles. 

I  don't  think  poor  General  Baynes  ever  had  a  proper  sense  of 
his  situation,  or  knew  liow  miserable  he  ought  by  rights  to  have 
been.  He  was  not  uncheerful  at  times :  a  silent  man,  liking  his 
rubber  and  his  glass  of  wine ;  a  very  weak  person  in  the  coiinuon 
affairs  of  life,  as  his  best  friends  must  own  ;  but,  as  I  have  heard, 
a,  very  tiger  in  action.  "  I  know  your  opinion  of  the  General," 
Philip  used  to  say  to  me,  in  his  grandiloquent  way.  "  You  despise 
men  who  don't  bully  their  wives  ;  you  do,  sir  I  You  think  the 
General  weak,  I  know,  I  know.  Other  brave  men  were  so  about 
women,  as  I  daresay  you  have  heard.  This  man,  so  weak  at  home, 
wa.s  mighty  on  the  war-path  ;  and  in  liis  wigwam  are  the  scalps  of 
countless  warriors." 

"In  his  \f\gtvhat-V^  say  I.     Tlie  truth  is,  on  his  meek  head 


334.  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  General  wore  a  little  curling  chestnut  top-knot,  which  looked 
very  queer  and  out  of  place  over  that  wrinkled  and  war-worn  face. 

"  If  you  choose  to  laugh  at  your  joke,  pray  do,"  says  Phil 
majestically.  "  I  make  a  noble  image  of  a  warrior.  You  prefer 
a  barber's  pole.  Bon  I  Pass  me  the  wine.  The  veteran  whom  I 
hope  to  salute  as  father  ere  long — the  soldier  of  twenty  battles ; — 
who  saw  my  own  brave  grandfather  die  at  his  side — die  at  Busaco, 
by  George — you  laugh  at  on  account  of  his  wig.  It's  a  capital 
joke."  And  here  Phil  scowled  and  slapped  the  table,  and  passed 
his  hand  across  his  eyes,  as  though  the  death  of  his  grandfather, 
which  occurred  long  before  Philip  was  born,  caused  him  a  very 
serious  pang  of  grief.  Philip's  newspaper  business  brought  him 
to  London  on  occasions.  I  think  it  was  on  one  of  these  visits  that 
we  had  our  talk  about  General  Baynes.  And  it  was  at  the  same 
time  Philip  described  the  boarding-house  to  us,  and  its  inmates,  and 
the  landlady,  and  the  doings  there. 

For  that  struggling  landlady,  as  for  all  women  in  distress,  our 
friend  had  a  great  sympathy  and  liking ;  and  she  returned  Philip's 
kindness  by  being  very  good  to  Mademoiselle  Charlotte,  and  very 
forbearing  with  the  General's  wife  and  his  other  children.  The 
appetites  of  those  little  ones  were  frightful,  the  temper  of  Madame 
la  Gendrale  was  almost  intolerable,  but  Charlotte  was  an  angel,  and 
the  General  was  a  mutton — a  true  mutton.  Her  own  father  had 
been  so.  The  brave  are  often  muttons  at  home.  I  suspect  that, 
though  Madame  could  have  made  but  little  profit  by  the  General's 
family,  his  monthly  payments  were  very  welcome  to  her  meagre 
little  exchequer.  "  Ah  !  if  all  my  locataires  were  like  him  !  "  sighed 
the  poor  lady.  "  That  Madame  Boldero,  whom  the  Generaless 
treats  always  as  Honourable,  I  wish  I  was  as  sure  of  her  !  And 
others  again  ! " 

I  never  kept  a  lioarding-house,  but  I  am  sure  there  must  be 
many  painful  duties  attendant  on  that  profession.  What  can  you 
do  if  a  lady  or  gentleman  doesn't  pay  his  bill  1  Turn  him  or  her 
out  1  Perhaps  the  very  thing  that  lady  or  gentleman  would  desire. 
They  go.  Those  trunks  which  you  have  insanely  detained,  and 
about  which  you  have  made  a  fight  and  a  scandal,  do  not  contain  a 
hundred  francs'  wortli  of  goods,  and  your  debtors  never  come  back 
again.  You  do  not  like  to  have  a  row  in  a  boarding-house  any  more 
than  you  would  like  to  have  a  party  witli  scarlet  fever  in  your  best 
bedroom.  The  scarlet-fever  party  stays,  and  the  other  boarders  go 
away.  What,  you  ask,  do  I  mean  by  this  mystery  1  I  am  sorry 
to  have  to  give  up  names,  and  titled  names.  I  am  sorry  to  say  the 
Honourable  Mrs.  Boldero  did  not  pay  her  bills.  She  was  waiting  for 
remittances,  which  the  Honourable  Boldero  was  dreadfully  remiss  in 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     335 

sending.  A  dreadful  man  !  He  was  still  at  his  Lordship's  at 
Gaberhmzie  Castle,  shooting  the  wild  deer  and  hunting  tlie  roe.  And 
though  the  Honourable  Mrs.  B.'s  heart  was  in  the  Highlands,  of 
course  how  could  she  join  her  Highland  chief  without  the  money  to 
pay  Madame?  The  Higldands,  indeed  !  One  dull  day  it  came  out 
that  the  Honourable  Boldero  was  amusing  himself  in  the  Highlands 
of  Hesse  Homburg ;  and  engaged  in  the  dangerous  sport  which  is  to 
be  had  in  the  green  plains  about  Loch  Baden-badenoch  ! 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  depravity  1  Tlic  woman  is  a 
desperate  and  unprincipled  adventuress  !  I  wonder  Madame  dares 
to  put  me  and  my  children  and  my  General  down  at  table  with 
such  people  as  those,  Philip ! "  cries  Madame  la  G^ndrale.  "  I 
mean  those  opposite — that  woman  and  her  two  daughters  who 
haven't  \md  Madame  a  shilling  for  three  months — who  owes 
me  five  hundred  irancs,  which  she  borrowed  until  next  Tuesday, 
expecting  a  renuttance — a  pretty  remittance  indeed — from  Lord 
Strongitharm.  Lord  Strongitharm,  I  daresay  !  And  she  pretends  to 
be  most  intimate  at  the  embassy ;  and  that  she  would  introduce  us 
there,  and  at  the  Tuileries :  and  she  told  me  Lady  Garterton  had 
the  small-pox  in  the  house  ;  and  when  I  said  all  ours  had  been 
vaccinated,  and  I  didn't  mind,  she  fobbed  me  off  with  some  other 
excuse;  and  it's  my  belief  the  woman's  a  hioubvr/.  Overhear  me  ! 
I  don't  care  if  she  does  overhear  me.  No.  You  may  look  as  much 
as  you  like,  my  IIonourafAe  Mrs.  Boldero  ;  and  I  don't  care  if  you 
do  overhear  me.  Ogoost !  Pomdytare  pour  le  Gdn^ral !  How  tough 
Madame's  boof  is,  and  it's  boof,  boof,  boof  every  day,  till  I'm  sick 
of  boof.  Ogoost !  why  don't  you  attend  to  my  children  ? "  And 
so  forth. 

By  this  report  of  tlie  worthy  woman's  conversation,  you  will 
see  that  the  friendsiiip  which  had  sprung  up  between  the  two 
ladies  had  come  to  an  end,  in  consequence  of  painful  pecuniary 
disputes  between  them ;  that  to  keep  a  boarding-house  can't  be  a 
very  pleasant  occupation ;  and  that  even  to  dine  in  a  boarding-house 
must  be  oidy  bad  fun  when  the  comi)any  is  frightened  and  didl,  and 
when  there  are  two  old  women  at  table  ready  to  fling  the  dishes  at 
each  other's  fronts.  At  the  period  of  which  I  now  write,  I  promise 
you,  tliere  was  very  little  of  tlic  piano-duct  business  going  on  after 
diimer.  In  the  first  ])]ace,  everybody  knew  the  girls'  pieces  ;  and 
when  they  began,  Mrs.  (Jcneral  Baynes  woidil  lift  up  a  voice  louder 
than  the  jingling  old  instrument,  thumped  Minna  and  Brenda  ever 
so  loudly.  "  Perfect  strangers  to  me,  Mr.  Ghmcy,  I  assure  you. 
Had  T  known  her,  you  don't  suppose  I  would  have  lent  her  the 
moTiey.  Honourable  Mrs.  Boldero,  indeed  !  Five  weeks  she  has 
owed  me  five  hundred  frongs.     Bong  swor,  Monsieur  Bidois  !     Sang 


336  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

song  frong  pas  payy  encor  !  Prommy,  pas  payy  ! "  Fancy,  I  say, 
what  a  dreary  life  that  must  have  been  at  the  select  boarding-house, 
where  these  two  parties  were  doing  battle  daily  after  dinner ! 
Fancy,  at  the  select  soirees,  the  Generals  lady  seizing  upon  one 
guest  after  another,  and  calling  out  her  wrongs,  and  pointing  to 
the  wrong-doer ;  and  poor  Mailame  Smolensk,  smirking  and  smiling, 
and  flying  from  one  end  of  the  salon  to  the  other,  and  thanking  M. 
Pivoine  for  his  charming  romance,  and  M.  Brumm  for  his  admirable 
performance  on  the  violoncello,  and  even  asking  those  poor  Miss 
Bolderos  to  perform  their  duet — for  her  heart  melted  towards  them. 
Not  ignorant  of  evil,  she  had  learned  to  succour  the  miseralile. 
She  knew  what  poverty  was,  and  had  to  coax  scowling  duns,  and 
wheedle  vulgar  creditors.  "  Tenez,  Monsieur  Philippe,"  she  said, 
"  the  Gre'ndrale  is  too  cruel.  There  are  others  here  who  might 
complain,  and  are  silent."  Philip  felt  all  this  ;  the  conduct  of  his 
future  mother-in-law  filled  him  with  dismay  and  horror.  And  some 
time  after  these  remarkable  circumstances,  he  told  me,  blushing  as 
he  spoke,  a  humiliating  secret.  "  Do  you  know,  sir,"  says  he, 
"  that  that  autumn  I  made  a  pretty  good  thing  of  it  with  one  thing 
or  another.  I  did  my  work  for  the  Pail  Mall  Gazette :  and  Smith, 
of  the  Daily  Intelligencer,  wanting  a  month's  holiday,  gave  me  his 
letter  and  ten  francs  a  day.  And  at  that  very  time  I  met  Redman, 
who  had  owed  me  twenty  pounds  ever  since  we  were  at  college, 
and  who  was  just  coming  back  flush  from  Homburg,  and  paid  me. 
Well,  now.  Swear  you  won't  tell.  Swear  on  your  faith  as  a 
Christian  man !  With  this  money  I  went,  sir,  privily  to  Mrs. 
Boldero.  I  said  if  she  would  pay  the  dragon — I  mean  Mrs.  Baynes 
— I  would  lend  her  the  money.  And  I  did  lend  her  the  money, 
and  the  Boldero  never  paid  back  Mrs.  Baynes.  Don't  mention  it. 
Promise  me  you  won't  tell  Mrs.  Baynes.  I  never  expected  to  get 
Redman's  money,  you  know,  and  am  no  worse  off  than  before.  One 
day  of  the  Grandes  Eaux  we  went  to  Versailles,  I  think,  and  the 
Honourable  Mrs.  Boldero  gave  us  the  slip.  She  left  the  poor  girls 
behind  her  in  pledge,  who,  to  do  them  justice,  cried  and  were  in  a 
dreadful  way ;  and  when  Mrs.  Baynes,  on  our  return,  began  shriek- 
ing about  her  '  sang  song  frong,'  Madame  Smolensk  fairly  lost 
patience  for  once,  and  said,  '  Mais,  madame,  vous  nous  fatiguez 
avec  vos  cinq  cent  francs ; '  on  which  the  other  muttered  something 
about  '  Ansolong,'  but  was  briskly  taken  up  by  her  husband,  who 
said,  '  By  George,  Eliza,  Madame  is  quite  right.  And  I  wish  the 
five  hundred  francs  were  in  the  sea.' " 

Thus,  you  understand,  if  Mrs.  General  Baynes  thought  some 
people  were  "stuck-up  people,"  some  people  can — and  hereby  do 
by  these  presents — pay  off"  Mrs.   Baynes,  by  furnishing  the  public 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     337 

with  a  candid  opinion  of  that  Lady's  morals,  manners,  and  character. 
How  couhl  such  a  shrewd  woman  be  dazzled  so  repeatedly  by  ranks 
and  titles  ?  There  used  to  dine  at  Madame  Smolensk's  boarding- 
house  a  certain  German  baron,  with  a  large  finger  ring  upon  a  dingy 
finger,  towards  whom  the  lady  was  pleased  to  cast  the  eye  of  favour, 
and  who  chose  to  fall  in  love  with  her  pretty  daughter ;  young  Mr. 
(ylancy,  the  Irish  poet,  was  also  smitten  with  the  charms  of  the  fair 
young  lady  ;  and  this  intrepid  mother  encouraged  both  suitors,  to 
the  unspeakable  agonies  of  Philip  Firinin,  who  felt  often  that  whilst 
he  was  away  at  his  work  these  inmates  of  Madame  Smolensk's  house 
were  near  his  charmer — at  her  side  at  lunch,  ever  handing  her  the 
cup  at  breakfiist,  on  the  watch  for  her  when  she  walked  forth  in 
the  garden  ;  and  I  take  the  pangs  of  jealousy  to  have  formed  a  part 
of  those  unspeakable  sufterings  which  Philip  said  he  endured  in  the 
house  whither  he  came  courting. 

Little  Charlotte,  in  one  or  two  of  her  letters  to  her  friends 
in  Queen  Square,  London,  meekly  complained  of  Philip's  tendency 
to  jealousy. 

"  Does  he  think,  after  knowing  him,  I  can  think  of  these  horrid 
men  ? "  she  asked.  "  I  don't  understand  what  Mr.  Clancy  is 
talking  about,  when  he  comes  to  me  with  his  '  pomes  and  potry  ; ' 
and  who  can  read  poetry  like  Philip  himself?  Then  the  German 
baron — who  does  not  call  even  himself  baron  :  it  is  mamma  who 
will  insist  upon  calling  him  so— has  such  very  dirty  things,  and 
smells  so  of  cigars,  that  I  don't  like  to  come  near  him.  Philip 
smokes  too,  but  his  cigars  are  quite  i)leasant.  Ah,  dear  friend,  how 
could  he  ever  think  such  men  as  these  were  to  be  put  in  comparison 
with  him  !  And  he  scolds  so ;  and  scowls  at  the  poor  men  in  the 
evening  when  he  comes !  and  his  temper  is  so  high  !  Do  say  a 
tvo7-d  to  him — quite  cautiously  and  gently,  you  know — in  behalf 
of  your  fondly  attached  and  most  happy — only  he  Avill  make  me 
unhappy  sometimes  ;  but  you'll  prevent  him,  won't  you  ? 

"Charlotte  B." 

I  could  fancy  Philip  hectoring  through  the  ])art  of  Othello,  and 
his  poor  young  Desdemona  not  a  little  frightened  at  his  black 
humours.  Such  sentiments  as  Mr.  Philip  felt  strongly,  he  ex))ressed 
with  an  uproar.  Cliarlotte's  correspondent,  as  usual,  made  light  of 
these  little  domestic  confidences  and  grievances.  "  Women  don't 
dislike  a  jealous  scolding,"'  she  said.  "  It  may  be  rather  tiresome, 
but  it  is  always  a  compliment.  Some  husbands  think  so  well  of 
themselv-es,  that  they  can't  condescend  to  be  jealous."  "Yes,"  I 
say,  "  women  prefer  to  have  tyrants  over  them.     A  scolding  you 


338  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

think  is  a  mark  of  attention.  Hadn't  you  better  adopt  the  Russian 
system  at  once,  and  go  out  and  buy  me  a  whip,  and  present  it  to 
me  with  a  curtsey,  and  your  compliments  ;  and  a  meek  prayer  that 
I  should  use  it  1 "  "  Present  you  a  whip  !  present  you  a  goose  !  " 
says  the  lady,  who  encourages  scolding  in  other  husbands,  it  seems, 
but  won't  suffer  a  word  from  her  own. 

Both  disputants  had  set  their  sentimental  hearts  on  the  marriage 
of  this  young  man  and  this  young  woman.  Little  Charlotte's  heart 
was  so  bent  on  the  match,  that  it  would  break,  we  fancied,  if  she 
were  disappointed ;  and  in  her  mother's  behaviour  we  felt,  from  the 
knowledge  we  had  of  the  woman's  disposition,  there  was  a  serious 
cause  for  alarm.  Should  a  better  offer  present  itself,  Mrs.  Baynes, 
we  feared,  would  fling  over  poor  Philip  :  or  it  was  in  reason  and 
nature,  that  he  would  come  to  a  quarrel  with  her,  and  in  the  course 
of  the  pitched  battle  which  must  ensue  between  them,  he  would 
fire  off  expressions  mortally  injurious.  Are  there  not  many  people, 
in  every  one's  acquaintance,  who,  as  soon  as  they  have  made  a 
bargain,  repent  of  it  1  Philip,  as  "  preserver  "  of  General  Baynes, 
in  the  first  fei'vour  of  family  gratitude  for  that  act  of  self-sacrifice 
on  the  young  man's  part,  was  very  well.  But  gratitude  wears  out ; 
or  suppose  a  woman  says,  "It  is  my  duty  to  my  child  to  recall 
my  word ;  and  not  allow  her  to  fling  herself  away  on  a  beggar." 
Suppose  that  you  and  I,  strongly  inclined  to  do  a  mean  action,  get 
a  good,  available,  and  moral  motive  for  if?  I  trembled  for  poor 
Philip's  course  of  true  love,  and  little  Charlotte's  chances,  when 
these  surmises  crossed  my  mind.  There  was  a  hope  still  in  the 
honour  and  gratitude  of  General  Baynes.  He  would  not  desert  his 
young  friend  and  benefactor.  N(3W  General  Baynes  was  a  brave 
man  of  war,  and  so  was  John  of  Marlborough  a  brave  man  of  war ; 
but  it  is  certain  that  both  were  afraid  of  their  wives. 

We  have  said  by  whose  invitation  and  encouragement  General 
Baynes  was  induced  to  bring  his  family  to  the  boarding-house  at 
Paris  ;  the  instigation,  namely,  of  his  friend  and  companion  in  arms, 
the  gallant  Colonel  Bunch.  When  the  Baynes  family  arrived,  the 
Bunches  were  on  the  steps  of  Madame's  house,  waving  a  welcome 
to  the  new-comers.  It  was,  "  Here  we  are.  Bunch  my  boy."  "  Glad 
to  see  you,  Baynes.  Right  well  you're  looking,  and  so's  Mrs.  B." 
And  the  General  replies,  "  And  so  are  you.  Bunch ;  and  so  do  you, 
Mrs.  B."  "  How  do,  boys?  How  d'you  do.  Miss  Charlotte?  Come 
to  show  the  Paris  fellows  what  a  pretty  girl  is,  hey  1  Blooming  like 
a  rose,  Baynes  !  "  "  I'm  telling  the  General,"  cries  the  Colonel  to 
the  General's  lady,  "  the  girl's  the  very  image  of  her  mother."  In 
this  case  poor  Charlotte  nnist  have  looked  like  a  yellow  rose,  for  Mrs. 
Baynes  was  of  a  bilious  temperament  and  complexion,  whereas  Miss 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      339 

Charlotte  was  as  fresh  pink  and  white  as — what  shall  we  say  ? — as 
the  very  freshest  strawberries  mingled  with  the  very  nicest  cream. 

The  two  old  soldiers  were  of  very  great  comfort  to  one  another. 
They  toddled  down  to  Galignani's  together  daily,  and  read  the 
papers  there.  They  went  and  looked  at  the  reviews  in  the 
Carrousel,  and  once  or  twice  to  the  Champ  de  Mars : — recognising 
here  and  there  the  numbers  of  the  regiments  against  which  they 
had  been  engaged  in  the  famous  ancient  wars.  They  did  not  l)rag 
in  the  least  about  their  achievements,  they  winked  and  understood 
each  other.  They  got  their  old  uniforms  out  of  their  old  boxes, 
and  took  a  voiture  de  remise,  by  Jove  !  and  went  to  be  presented 
to  Louis  Philipije.  They  bought  a  catalogue,  and  went  to  the 
Louvre,  and  wagged  their  honest  old  heads  before  the  pictures ; 
and,  I  daresay,  winked  and  nudged  each  other's  brave  old  sides 
at  some  of  the  nymphs  in  the  statue  gallery.  They  went  out  to 
Versailles  with  their  families ;  loyally  stood  treat  to  the  ladies  at 
the  restaurateur's.  (Bunch  had  taken  down  a  memorandum  in 
his  pocket-book,  from  Benyon,  who  had  been  the  Duke's  aide-de- 
camp in  the  last  campaign,  to  "  go  to  Beauvillier's,"  only  Beau- 
villier's  had  been  shut  up  for  twenty  years.)  They  took  their 
families  and  Charlotte  to  the  Theatre  Fran(^ais,  to  a  tragedy;  and 
they  had  books :  and  they  said  it  was  the  most  confounded  non- 
sense they  ever  saw  in  their  lives  ;  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
Bunch,  in  the  back  of  the  box,  snored  so,  that,  though  in  retire- 
ment, he  created  quite  a  sensation.  "  Corneal,"  he  owns,  was  too 
much  for  him :  give  him  Shakspeare :  give  him  John  Kemble : 
give  him  Mrs.  Siddons :  give  him  Mrs.  Jordan.  But  as  for  this 
sort  of  thing  1  "I  think  our  play  days  are  over,  Baynes, — hey  1 " 
And  I  also  believe  that  Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  whose  knowledge 
of  the  language  was  imperfect  as  yet,  was  very  mucli  bewildered 
during  the  tragedy  and  could  give  but  an  imperfect  account  of  it. 
But  then  Philip  Firmin  was  in  the  orchestra  stalls ;  and  had  he 
not  sent  three  bouquets  for  the  three  ladies,  regretting  that  he 
could  not  come  to  see  somebody  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es,  because 
it  was  his  post  day,  and  he  must  write  his  letter  for  the  Fall  Afall 
Gazette  1  There  he  was,  her  Cid ;  her  ])eerless  cham])ion  :  and 
to  give  up  father  and  mother  for  him  1  our  little  Chim^ne  thought 
such  a  sacrifice  not  too  difficult.  After  that  dismal  attempt  at 
the  theatre,  the  experiment  was  not  repeated.  The  old  gentlemen 
preferred  their  whist  to  those  pompous  Alexandrines  sung  through 
the  nose,  which  Colonel  Bunch,  a  facetious  little  colonel,  used  to 
imitate,  and,  I  am  given  to  understand,  very  badly. 

The  good  gentlemen's  ordinary  amusement  was  a  game  at  cards 
after  dinner;   and  they  compared    Madanic's  to  an  East  Indian 


340  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

ship,  quarrels  and  all.  Sarah  went  on  just  in  that  way  on  hoard 
the  Burrwmjiooter.  Always  rows  about  precedence,  and  the 
services,  and  the  deuce  knows  what.  Women  always  will.  Sarah 
Bunch  went  on  in  that  way  :  and  Eliza  Baynes  also  went  on  in 
that  way ;  but  I  should  think,  from  the  most  trustworthy  informa- 
tion, that  Eliza  was  worse  than  Sarah. 

"  About  any  person  with  a  title,  that  woman  will  make  a  fool 
of  herself  to  the  end  of  the  chapter,"  remarked  Sarah  of  her  friend. 
"  You  remember  how  she  used  to  go  on  at  Barrackpore  about  that 
little  shrimp,  Stoney  Battersby,  because  he  was  an  Irish  viscount's 
son  %  See  how  she  flings  herself  at  the  head  of  this  Mrs.  Boldero, 
— with  her  airs,  and  her  paint,  and  her  black  front !  I  can't  bear 
the  woman !  I  know  she  has  not  paid  Madame.  I  know  she  is 
no  better  than  she  should  be — and  to  see  Eliza  Baynes  coaxing 
her,  and  sidling  up  to  her,  and  flattering  her ; — it's  too  bad,  that 
it  is !  A  woman  who  owes  ever  so  much  to  Madame !  a  woman 
who  doesn't  pay  her  washerwoman  !  " 

"Just  like  the  Burrunipooter  over  again,  my  dear,"  cries  Colonel 
Bunch.  "You  and  Eliza  Baynes  were  always  quarrelling,  that's 
the  fact.  Why  did  you  ask  her  to  come  here  ?  I  knew  you  woidd 
begin  again,  as  soon  as  you  met."  And  the  truth  was  that  these 
ladies  were  always  fighting  and  making  up  again. 

"  So  you  and  Mrs.  Bunch  were  old  acquaintances  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Boldero  of  her  new  friend.  "My  dear  Mrs.  Baynes  !  I  should  hardly 
have  thought  it  :  your  manners  are  so  different !  Your  friend,  if  I 
may  be  so  free  as  to  speak,  has  the  camp  manner.  You  have  not 
the  camp  manner  at  all.  I  should  have  thouglit  you — excuse  me 
the  phrase,  but  I'm  so  open,  and  always  speak  my  mind  out — you 
haven't  the  camp  manner  at  all.  You  seem  as  if  you  were  one 
of  us.     Minna !   doesn't   Mrs.   Baynes  put  you  in  mind  of  Lady 

Hm ■?"      (The    name    is    inaudible,    in    consequence    of    Mrs. 

Boldero's  exceeding  shyness   in   mentioning  names — but  the  girls 

see  the  likeness  to  dear  Lady  Hm at  once.)     "  And  when  you 

bring  your  dear  girl  to  London  you'll  know  the  lady  I  mean,  and 
judge  for  yourself  I  assure  you  I  am  not  disparaging  you,  my 
dear  Mrs.  Baynes,  in  comparing  you  to  her  ! " 

And  so  the  conversation  goes  on.  If  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter 
at  Tours  chose  to  betray  secrets,  she  could  give  extracts  from  her 
sister's  letters  to  show  how  profound  was  the  impression  created  in 
Mrs.  General  Baynes's  mind  by  the  professions  and  conversations  of 
the  Scotch  lady. 

"Didn't  tiie  General  shoot  and  love  deer-stalking  1  The  dear 
General  must  come  to  Gaberlunzie  Castlo,  where  she  would  promise 
him  a  Highland  welcome.     Her  brother  Strongitharm  was  the  most 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     341 

amiable  of  men  ;  adored  her  and  her  girls  :  there  was  talk  even  of 
marrying  Minna  to  the  Captain,  but  she,  for  her  part,  could  not 
endure  the  marriage  of  first  cousins.  There  was  a  tradition  against 
such  marriages  in  their  family.  Of  three  Bolderos  and  Strong- 
itliarms  who  married  their  first  cousins,  one  was  drowned  in 
Gaberlunzie  lake  three  Aveeks  after  the  mari'iage  ;  one  lost  his  wife 
by  a  galloping  consumption,  and  died  a  monk  at  Rome ;  and  the 
third  married  a  fortnight  before  the  battle  of  OuUoden,  where  he 
was  slain  at  the  head  of  the  Strongitharms.  Mrs.  Baynes  had  no 
idea  of  the  splendour  of  Gaberlunzie  Castle  :  seventy  bedrooms  and 
thirteen  company-rooms,  besides  the  picture-gallery  !  In  Edinburgh, 
the  Strongitharm  had  the  i-ight  to  wear  his  bonnet  in  the  presence 
of  his  sovereign."  "  A  bonnet !  how  very  odd,  my  dear !  But 
with  ostrich  plumes,  I  daresay  it  may  look  well,  especially  as  the 
Highlanders  wear  i'rocks,  too."  "  Lord  Strongitharm  had  no  house 
in  London,  having  almost  ruined  himself  in  building  his  jirincely 
castle  in  the  North.  Mrs.  Baynes  mniit  come  there  and  meet  their 
noble  relatives  and  all  tiie  Scottish  nobility."  "Nor  do  /  care 
about  these  vanities,  my  dear  ;  but  to  bring  my  sweet  Charlotte 
into  the  world,  is  it  not  a  mother's  duty  %  " 

Not  only  to  her  sister,  but  likewise  to  Charlotte's  friends  of 
Queen  Square,  did  Mrs.  Baynes  impart  tliese  delightful  news.  But 
this  is  in  tlie  first  ardour  of  the  friendship  which  arises  between 
Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero,  and  before  those  unpleasant  money 
disputes  of  which  we  have  spoken. 

Afterwards,  when  the  two  ladies  have  quarrelled  regarding  the 
memorable  "sang  song  frong,"  1  think  Mrs.  Bunch  came  round 
to  Mrs.  Boldcro's  side.  "  Eliza  Baynes  is  too  hard  on  her.  It  is 
too  cruel  to  insult  her  before  those  two  unhappy  daughters.  The 
woman  is  an  odious  woman,  and  a  vulgar  woman,  and  a  schemer, 
and  I  always  said  bo.  But  to  box  her  ears  before  her  daughters — 
her  honourable  friend  of  last  week  !  it's  a  shame  of  Eliza  !  " 

"  My  dear,  you'd  better  tell  her  so  ! "  says  Buncii  drily. 
"  But  if  you  do,  tell  her  when  I'm  out  of  the  way,  please  !  "  And 
accordingly,  one  day  when  the  two  old  othcers  return  from  their 
stroll,  Mrs.  Bunch  informs  the  Colonel  that  she  has  had  it  out  with 
Eliza  ;  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  with  a  heated  face,  tells  the  General  that 
she  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch  have  quarrelled ;  and  she  is  determined 
it  shall  be  for  the  last  time.  So  that  poor  Madame  de  Smolensk 
has  to  interpose  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Boldero  ;  between 
Mrs.  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Bunch  ;  and  to  sit  surroimded  by  glaring 
eyes,  and  hissing  innuendoes,  and  in  the  midst  of  feuds  unhealable. 
Of  coiu'se,  from  tlie  women  the  (|uarrelling  will  spread  to  the 
gentlemen.       That    always    happens.       Poor    Madame    trembles. 


342  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Again  Bunch  gives  his  neighbour  his  word  that  it  is  like  the 
Barrumpooter  East  Indiaman — the  Bui-rnmpooter  in  very  bad 
weather,  too. 

"At  any  rate,  we  won't  be  higged  into  it,  Baynes  ray  boy!" 
says  tlie  Colonel,  who  is  of  a  sanguine  temperament,  to  his 
friend. 

"  Hey,  hey  !  don't  be  too  sure.  Bunch ;  don't  be  too  sure," 
sighs  the  other  veteran,  who,  it  may  be,  is  of  a  more  despond- 
ing turn,  as,  after  a  battle  at  luncheon,  in  which  the  Amazons 
were  fiercely  engaged,  the  two  old  warriors  take  their  walk  to 
Galignani's. 

Towards  his  Charlotte's  relatives  poor  Philip  was  respectful  by 
duty  and  a  sense  of  interest,  perhaps.  Before  marriage,  especially, 
men  are  very  kind  to  the  relatives  of  the  beloved  object.  They 
pay  compliments  to  mamma ;  they  listen  to  papa's  old  stories,  and 
laugh  appositely ;  they  bring  presents  for  the  innocent  young  ones, 
and  let  the  little  brothers  kick  their  shins.  Philip  endured  the 
juvenile  Bayneses  very  kindly :  he  took  the  boys  to  Franconi's,  and 
made  his  conversation  as  suitable  as  he  could  to  the  old  people. 
He  was  fond  of  the  old  General,  a  simple  and  worthy  old  man  ;  and 
had,  as  we  have  said,  a  hearty  sympathy  and  respect  for  Madame 
Smolensk,  admiring  her  constau(;y  and  good-humour  under  her 
many  trials.  But  those  who  have  perused  his  memoirs  are  aware 
that  Mr.  Firmin  could  make  himself,  on  occasions,  not  a  little 
disagreeable.  Wlien  sprawling  on  a  sofa,  engaged  in  conversation 
with  his  charmer,  he  would  not  budge  when  other  ladies  entered 
the  room.  He  scowled  at  them,  if  he  did  not  like  them.  He  was 
not  at  the  least  trouble  to  conceal  his  likes  or  dislikes.  He  had  a 
manner  of  fixing  his  glass  in  his  eye,  putting  his  thumbs  into  the 
armholes  of  his  waistcoat,  and  talking  and  laughing  very  loudly  at 
his  own  jokes  or  conceits,  which  was  not  pleasant  or  respectful 
to  ladies. 

"  Your  loud  young  friend,  with  the  cracked  boots,  is  very 
mauvais  ton,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,"  Mrs.  Boldero  remarked  to  her 
new  friend,  in  the  first  ardour  of  their  friendship.  "  A  relative  of 
Lord  Ringwood's,  is  he  1  Lord  Ringwood  is  a  very  queer  person. 
A  son  of  that  dreadful  Dr.  Firmin,  who  ran  away  after  cheating 
everybody  1  Poor  young  man  !  He  can't  help  having  such  a  father, 
as  you  say,  and  most  good,  and  kind,  and  generous  of  you  to  say 
so.  And  the  General  and  the  Honourable  Philip  Ringwood  were 
early  companions  together,  I  daresay.  But,  having  such  an  unfor- 
tunate father  as  Dr.  Firmin,  I  think  Mr.  Firmin  might  be  a  little 
less  prononce  ;  don't  you  ?  And  to  see  him  in  cracked  boots,  sprawl- 
ing over  the  sofas,  and  hear  him,  when  my  loves  are  playing  their 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      343 

duets,  laughing  and  talking  so  very  loud, — I  confess  isn't  pleasant 
to  me.  I  am  not  used  to  that  kind  of  monde,  nor  are  my  dear 
loves.  You  are  under  great  obligations  to  him,  and  he  has  behaved 
nobly,  you  say '?  Of  course.  To  get  into  your  society  an  unfortunate 
young  man  will  be  on  his  best  behaviour,  though  he  certainly  does 
not  condescend  to  be  civil  to  us.  But  ....  What !  that  young 
man  engaged  to  that  lovely,  innocent,  charming  child,  your  daughter  1 
My  dear  creature,  you  frighten  me  !  A  man,  with  such  a  father  ; 
and,  excuse  me,  with  such  a  manner ;  and  without  a  penny  in  the 
world,  engaged  to  Miss  Baynes  !  Goodness,  powers  !  It  must  never 
be.  It  siiail  not  be,  my  dear  Mrs.  Baynes.  Why,  I  have  written 
to  my  nephew  Lenox  to  come  over,  Strongitliarm's  favourite  son 
antl  my  favourite  nephew.  I  have  told  him  that  there  is  a  sweet 
young  creature  here  whom  he  must  and  ought  to  see.  How  well 
tiiat  dear  child  would  look  presiding  at  Strongitharm  Castle  1  And 
you  are  going  to  give  her  to  that  dreadful  young  man  with  the 
loud  voice  and  the  cracked  boots — that  smoky  young  man — oh, 
impossible ! " 

Madame  had,  no  doubt,  given  a  very  favourable  report  of  her 
new  lodgers  to  the  other  inmates  of  her  house ;  and  she  and  Mrs. 
Boldero  had  concluded  that  all  general  officers  returning  from  India 
were  immensely  ricli.  To  think  that  lier  daughter  might  be  tlie 
Honourable  Mrs.  Strongitliarm,  Baroness  Strongitharm,  and  walk 
in  a  coronation  in  robes,  with  a  coronet  in  her  hand  !  Mrs.  Baynes 
yielded  in  loyalty  to  no  woman,  but  I  fear  her  wicked  desires  com- 
passed a  speedy  Royal  demise,  as  this  tliought  passed  through  her 
mind  of  the  Honourable  Lenox  Strongitharm.  She  looked  him  out 
in  the  Peerage,  and  found  that  young  nobleman  designated  as  the 
Captain  of  Strongitharm.  Charlotte  might  be  the  Honourable  Mrs. 
Captain  of  Strongitliarm  !  When  poor  Phil  stalked  in  after  dinner 
that  evening  in  his  shabby  boots,  and  smoky  paletot,  Mrs.  Baynes 
gave  him  but  a  grim  welcome.  He  went  and  prattled  unconsciously 
by  the  side  of  Ids  little  Charlotte,  whose  tender  eyes  dwelt  iii)on 
Jiis,  and  wliose  fair  cheeks  flung  out  their  blushes  of  welcome.  He 
jirattled  away.  He  laughed  out  loud  whilst  Minna  and  Brenda 
were  thumping  their  duet,  "Taisez-vous  done,  Monsieur  Piiilip]H>," 
cries  Madame,  putting  her  finger  to  her  lip.  The  Honourable  Mrs. 
Boldero  looked  at  dear  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  shrugged  her  shoulders. 
Poor  Philip !  would  he  have  laughed  so  loudly  (and  so  rudely,  too, 
as  I  own)  had  he  known  what  was  passing  in  the  minds  of  those 
women  1  Treason  was  passing  there  :  and  before  that  glance  of 
knowing  scorn,  shot  from  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Boldero's  eyes,  dear 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  faltered.  How  very  curt  and  dry  she  was 
with  Philip  !    how   testy    with  Charlotte !     Poor  Philip,  knowing 


344  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

that  his  charmer  was  in  the  power  of  her  mother,  was  pretty 
humble  to  this  dragon  ;  and  attempted,  by  uncouth  flatteries,  to 
soothe  and  propitiate  her.  She  had  a  queer  dry  humour,  and  loved 
a  joke ;  but  Phil's  fell  very  flat  this  night.  Mrs.  Baynes  received 
his  pleasantries  with  an  "  Oh,  indeed  !  She  was  sure  she  heard 
one  of  the  children  crying  in  their  nursery.  Do,  pray,  go  and  see, 
Charlotte,  what  that  child  is  crying  about."  And  away  goes  poor 
Charlotte,  having  but  dim  presentiment  of  misfortune  as  yet.  Was 
not  mamma  often  in  an  ill-humour ;  and  were  they  not  all  used  to 
her  scoldings  1 

As  for  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  I  am  sorry  to  say  that,  up  to  this 
time,  Philip  was  not  only  no  favoiu'ite  with  her,  but  was  heartily 
disliked  by  that  lady.  I  have  told  you  our  friend's  faults.  He 
was  loud  :  he  was  abrupt :  he  was  rude  often  :  and  often  gave  just 
cause  of  annoyance  by  liis  laughter,  his  disrespect,  and  his  swagger- 
ing manner.  To  those  whom  he  liked  he  was  as  gentle  as  a  woman  ; 
and  treated  them  with  an  extreme  tenderness  and  touching  rough 
respect.  But  those  persons  about  whom  he  was  indifferent,  he 
never  took  the  least  trouble  to  conciliate  or  please.  If  they  told 
long  stories,  for  example,  he  would  turn  on  his  heel,  or  interrupt 
them  by  observations  of  his  own  on  some  quite  different  subject. 
Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  then,  positively  disliked  that  young  man,  and 
I  think  had  very  g<:>od  reasons  for  her  dislike.  As  for  Bunch,  Bunch 
said  to  Baynes,  "  Cool  hand,  that  young  fellow ! "  and  winked. 
And  Baynes  said  to  Bunch,  "  Queer  chap.  Fine  fellow,  as  I  have 
reason  to  know  pretty  well.  I  play  a  club.  No  club?  I  mark 
honours  and  two  tricks."  And  the  game  went  on.  Clancy  hated 
Philip :  a  meek  man  whom  Firmin  had  yet  managed  to  off"end. 
"  That  man,"  the  pote  Clancy  remarked,  "  has  a  manner  of  treading 
on  me  corrans  which  is  intolerable  to  me  !  " 

The  truth  is,  Philip  was  always  putting  his  foot  on  some  other 
foot,  and  trampling  it.  And  as  for  the  Boldero  clan,  Mr.  Firmin 
treated  them  with  the  most  amusing  insolence,  and  ignored  them 
as  if  they  were  out  of  existence  altogether.  So  you  see  the  poor 
fellow  had  not  with  his  poverty  learned  the  least  lesson  of  humility, 
or  acquired  the  very  earliest  rudiments  of  the  art  of  making  friends. 
I  think  his  best  friend  in  the  house  was  its  mistress,  Madame 
Smolensk.  Mr.  Philip  treated  her  as  an  equal  :  which  mark  of 
affability  he  was  not  in  tlie  habit  of  bestowing  on  all  persons. 
Some  great  people,  some  rich  people,  some  would-be  fine  people,  he 
would  patronise  with  an  insufferable  audacity.  Rank  and  wealth 
do  not  seem  someliow  to  influence  this  man,  as  they  do  common 
mortals.  He  would  tap  a  bishop  on  the  waistcoat,  and  contradict 
a  duke  at  their  first  meeting.     I  have  seen  him  walk  out  of  church 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      .StS 

(luring  a  stui)i(l  sermon,  with  an  audible  remark  i)erhaps  to  tliat 
effect,  and  as  if  it  -were  a  matter  of  course  that  he  should  go.  If 
tlie  company  bored  him  at  dinner,  he  Avould  go  to  sleep  in  the  most 
unaffected  manner.  At  home  we  were  always  kept  in  a  pleasant 
state  of  anxiety,  not  only  by  what  he  did  and  said,  but  by  the  idea 
of  what  he  might  do  or  say  next.  He  did  not  go  to  sleep  at 
Madame's  boarding-house,  preferring  to  keep  his  eyes  open  to  look 
at  pretty  Cliarlotte's.  And  were  there  ever  such  sapphires  as  his"? 
slie  tliouglit.  And  hers  ?  All  !  if  they  have  tears  to  shed,  I  hope 
a  kind  fate  will  dry  them  quickly  ! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

TREATS  OF  DANCING,  DINING,  DYING 

OLD  schoolboys  remember  liow,  when  pious  ^neas  was  com- 
pelled by  painful  circumstances  to  quit  his  country,  he  and 
his  select  band  of  Trojans  founded  a  new  Troy,  where  they 
landed ;  raising  temples  to  the  Tr(jjan  gods ;  building  streets  with 
Trojan  names ;  and  endeavouring,  to  the  utmost  of  their  power,  to 
recall  their  beloved  native  place.  In  like  manner,  British  Trojans 
and  French  Trojans  take  their  Troy  everywhere.  Algiers  I  have 
only  seen  from  tlie  sea ;  but  New  Orleans  and  Leicester  Square  I 
have  visited ;  and  have  seen  a  quaint  old  France  still  lingering  on 
the  banks  of  the  Mississippi ;  a  dingy  modern  France  round  that 
great  Grlobe  of  Mr.  Wyld's,  which  they  say  is  coming  to  an  end. 
There  are  French  cafes,  billiards,  estaminets,  waiters,  markers,  poor 
Frenchmen,  and  rich  Frenchmen,  in  a  new  Paris — shabby  and 
dirty,  it  is  true — but  offering  the  emigrant  the  dominoes,  the 
chopine,  the  petit-verre  of  the  patrie.  And  do  not  British  Trojans, 
who  emigrate  to  the  continent  of  Europe,  take  their  Troy  with 
them  1  You  all  know  the  quarters  of  Paris  which  swarm  with  us 
Trojans.  From  Peace  Street  to  the  Arch  of  the  Star  are  collected 
thousands  of  refugees  from  our  Ilium.  Under  the  arcades  of  the 
Rue  de  Rivoli  you  meet,  at  certain  hours,  as  many  of  our  Ti'ojans 
as  of  the  natives.  In  the  Trojan  inns  of  "  Meurice,"  the  "  Louvre," 
&c.,  we  swarm.  We  have  numerous  Anglo-Trojan  doctors  and 
apothecaries,  who  give  us  the  dear  pills  and  doses  of  Pergamus. 
We  go  to  Mrs.  Guerre  or  kind  Mrs.  Colombin,  and  can  purchase 
the  sandwic'hes  of  Troy,  the  pale  ale  and  sherry  of  Troy,  and  the 
dear  dear  muffins  of  home.  We  live  for  years,  never  speaking  any 
language  but  our  native  Trojan  ;  except  to  our  servants,  whom  we 
instruct  in  tlie  Trojan  way  of  j  ire  paring  toast  for  breakfast ;  Trojan 
bread-sauce  iov  fowls  and  partridges ;  Trojan  corned  beef,  &c.  We 
have  temples  where  we  worship  according  to  the  Trojan  rites.  A 
kindly  sight  is  that  which  one  beholds  of  a  Sunday  in  the  Elysian 
fields  and  the  St.  Honore  quarter,  of  processions  of  English  grown 
people  and  children,  stalwart,  red-cheeked,  marching  to  their 
churches,  their  gilded  prayer-books  in  hand,  to  sing  in  a  stranger's 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      .'?47 

land  the  sacred  songs  of  their  Zion.  I  am  sure  there  are  many 
English  in  Paris  who  never  speak  to  any  native  above  the  rank  of 
a  waiter  or  shopman.  Not  long  since  I  was  listening  to  a  French- 
man at  Folkestone,  speaking  English  to  the  waiters  and  acting  as 
interpreter  for  his  party.  He  spoke  pretty  well  and  very  (luickly. 
He  was  irresistibly  comical.  I  wonder  how  we  maintained  our 
gravity.  And  you  and  I,  my  dear  friend,  Avhen  ?re  speak  French, 
I  daresay  we  are  just  as  absurd.  As  absurd !  And  why  not  ? 
Don't  you  be  discouraged,  young  fellow.  Courage,  man  jenne 
ami !  Remember,  Trojans  have  a  conquering  way  Avith  them. 
When  ^neas  landed  at  Carthage,  I  daresay  he  spoke  Carthaginian 
with  a  ridiculous  Trojan  accent ;  but,  for  all  that,  poor  Dido  fell 
desperately  in  love  with  him.  Take  example  by  the  son  of 
Anchises,  my  boy.  Never  mind  the  grammar  or  the  pronunciation, 
but  tackle  the  lady,  and  speak  your  mind  to  her  as  best  you  can. 

This  is  the  plan  which  the  Vicomte  de  Loisy  used  to  adopt. 
He  was  following  a  cours  of  English  according  to  the  celebrated 
methode  Johson.  The  cours  assembled  twice  a  week :  and  the 
Vicomte,  with  laudable  assiduity,  went  to  all  English  jiarties  to 
which  he  could  gain  an  introduction,  for  the  purpose  of  acquiring 
the  English  language,  and  marrying  une  Anglaise.  This  industrious 
young  man  even  went  an  Temple  on  Sundays  for  the  jnirpose  of 
familiarising  himself  with  the  English  language ;  and  as  he  sat 
under  Doctor  Murrogh  Macmanus  of  T.  C.  D.,  a  very  eloquent 
preacher  at  Paris  in  those  days,  the  Vicomte  acquired  a  very  fine 
pronunciation.  Attached  to  the  cause  of  unfortunate  monarchy  all 
over  the  world,  the  Vicomte  had  fought  in  the  Spanish  Carlist 
armies.  He  waltzed  well :  and  Madame  thought  his  cross  looked 
nice  at  her  parties.  Will  it  be  believed  that  Mrs.  General  Baynes 
took  this  gentleman  into  special  favour ;  talked  with  him  at  miree 
after  wiree ;  never  laughed  at  his  English ;  encouraged  her  girl  to 
waltz  with  him  (which  he  did  to  perfection,  whereas  poor  Philip 
was  but  a  hulking  and  clumsy  performer)  ;  and  showed  him  the 
very  greatest  favour,  until  one  day,  on  going  into  Mr.  Bonus's,  the 
house-agent  (who  lets  lodgings,  and  sells  Bi-itisii  pickles,  tea,  sherry, 
and  the  like),  she  found  the  Vicomte  occupying  a  stool  as  clerk  in 
Mr.  Bonus's  estal)lishment,  where  for  twelve  hundred  francs  a  year 
he  gave  his  invaluable  services  during  the  day  !  Mrs.  Baynes  took 
j)oor  Madame  severely  to  task  for  admitting  such  a  man  to  her 
assemblies.  Madame  was  astonished.  Monsieur  was  a  gentleman 
of  ancient  family  who  had  met  with  misfortunes.  He  was  earning 
his  maintenance.  To  sit  in  a  bureau  was  not  a  dishonour.  Know- 
ing that  boutiqve  meant  shop  and  tjurcon.  meant  boy,  Mrr,., Baynes 
made  use  of  the  words  boutique  rjarron  the  next  time  she  saw  the 


348  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Vicomte.  The  little  man  wept  tears  of  rage  and  mortification. 
There  was  a  very  yjainful  scene,  at  which,  thank  mercy,  poor 
Charlotte  thought,  Philip  was  not  present.  Were  it  not  for  the 
General's  cheveux  blancs  (by  which  phrase  the  Vicomte  very  kindly 
designated  General  Baynes's  chestnut  top-knot),  the  Vicomte  would 
iiave  had  reason  from  him.  "  Charming  miss,"  he  said  to  Charlotte, 
''  your  respectable  papa  is  safe  from  my  sword  !  Madame  your 
mamma  has  addressed  me  words  which  I  qualify  not.  But  you — 
you  are  too  'andsome,  too  good,  to  despise  a  poor  soldier,  a  poor 
gentleman  ! "  I  have  heard  the  Vicomte  still  dances  at  boarding- 
houses  and  is  still  in  pursuit  of  an  Anglaise.  He  must  be  a  wooer 
now  almost  as  elderly  as  the  good  General  whose  scalp  he  respected. 
Mrs.  Baynes  was,  to  be  sure,  a  heavy  weight  to  bear  for  poor 
Madame,  but  her  lean  shoulders  were  accustomed  to  many  a 
burden  ;  and  if  the  General's  wife  was  quarrelsome  and  odious,  he, 
as  Madame  said,  was  as  soft  as  a  mutton ;  and  Charlotte's  pretty 
face  and  manners  were  the  admiration  of  all.  The  yellow  Miss 
Bolderos,  those  hapless  elderly  orphans  left  in  pawn,  might  bite 
their  lips  with  envy,  but  they  never  could  make  them  as  red  as 
Miss  Charlotte's  smiling  mouth.  To  the  honour  of  Madame 
Smolensk  be  it  said,  that  never  by  word  or  hint  did  she  cause  those 
unhappy  young  ladies  any  needless  pain.  She  never  stinted  them 
of  any  meal.  No  full-priced  pensioner  of  Madame's  could  have 
breakfast,  luncheon,  dinners  served  more  regularly.  The  day  after 
their  mother's  flight,  that  good  Madame  Smolensk  took  early  cups 
of  tea  to  the  girls'  rooms  with  her  own  hands ;  and  I  believe  helped 
to  do  the  hair  of  one  of  them,  and  otherwise  to  soothe  them  in 
their  misfortune.  They  could  not  keep  their  secret.  It  must  be 
owned  that  Mrs.  Baynes  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  deploring 
their  situation  and  acquainting  all  new-comers  with  their  mother's 
flight  and  transgression.  But  she  was  good-natured  to  the  captives 
in  her  grim  way ;  and  admired  Madame's  forbearance  regarding 
them.  The  two  old  oflicers  were  now  especially  polite  to  the  poor 
things  :  and  the  Genei-al  rapped  one  of  his  boys  over  the  knuckles 
for  saying  to  Miss  Brenda,  "  If  your  uncle  is  a  lord  why  doesn't  he 
give  you  any  money  ? "  "  And  tliese  girls  used  to  hold  their  heads 
above  mine,  and  their  mother  used  to  give  herself  such  airs  ! "  cried 
Mrs.  Baynes.  "  And  Eliza  Baynes  used  to  flatter  those  poor  girls 
and  their  mother,  and  fancy  they  were  going  to  make  a  woman  of 
faJshion  of  her?"  said  Mrs.  Bunch.  "We  all  have  our  weaknesses. 
Lords  are  not  yours,  my  dear.  Faith,  I  don't  think  you  know 
one,"  says  stout  little  Colonel  Bunch.  "  I  wouldn't  pay  a  duchess 
such  court  as  Eliza  paid  that  woman  !  "  cried  Sarah  ;  and  she  made 
sarcastic  inquiries  of  the  General,  whether  Eliza  had  heard  from  her 


I 


ON  HIS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD   34<) 

friend  the  Honourable  Mrs.  Bolderol  But  fur  all  this  Mrs.  Bunch 
pitied  the  youn<^  ladies,  and  I  believe  gave  them  a  little  supply  of 
coin  from  her  private  purse.  A  word  as  to  their  private  liistory. 
Their  mamma  became  the  terror  of  boarding-house  keepers  :  and 
tlie  poor  girls  practised  their  duets  all  over  Europe.  Mrs.  Boldero's 
noble  nephew,  the  present  Strongitharm  (as  a  friend  who  knows 
the  fashionable  world  informs  me)  was  victimised  by  his  own  uncle, 
and  a  most  painful  aftair  occurred  between  them  at  a  game  at 
"  blind  hookey."  The  Honourable  Mrs.  Boldero  is  living  in  the 
precincts  of  Holyrood ;  one  of  her  daughters  is  happily  married  to 
a  minister  ;  and  the  otlier  to  an  apothecary  who  was  called  in  to 
attend  her  in  quinsy.  So  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  phrase  about 
"  select "  boarding-houses  is  a  mere  complimentary  term  ;  and  as 
for  the  strictest  references  being  given  and  required,  I  certainly 
should  not  lay  out  extra  money  for  printing  thai  expression  in  my 
advertisement,  were  I  going  to  set  up  an  establishment  myself 

Old  college  friends  of  Philip's  visited  Paris  from  time  to  time  ; 
and  rejoiced  in  carrying  him  off  to  "  Borel's  "  or  the  "  Trois  Frferes," 
and  hospitably  treating  him  who  had  been  so  hospitable  in  his 
time.  Yes,  thanks  be  to  Heaven,  there  are  good  Samaritans  in 
pretty  large  numbers  in  this  world,  and  hands  ready  enough  to 
succour  a  man  in  misfortune.  I  could  name  two  or  three  gentlemen 
who  drive  about  in  chariots  and  look  at  people's  tongues  and  write 
queer  figures  and  queer  Latin  on  note-jjaper,  who  occultly  made  a 
purse  containing  some  seven  or  ten  score  fees,  and  sent  them  out  to 
Dr.  Firmin  in  his  banishment.  The  poor  wretch  had  behaved  as 
ill  as  might  l)e,  but  he  was  without  a  penny  or  a  friend.  I  dare- 
say Dr.  Goodenough,  amongst  other  ])hilanthropists,  put  his  hands^ 
into  his  pocket.  Having  heartily  disliked  and  mistrusted  Firmin 
in  prosperity,  in  adversity  he  melted  towards  the  poor  fugitive 
wretch  :  he  even  could  believe  tliat  Firmin  had  some  skill  in  his 
])rofession,  and  in  his  practice  was  not  quite  a  quack. 

Philip's  old  college  and  sdiool  cronies  laughed  at  hearing  that, 
now  his  ruin  was  complete,  he  was  thinking  about  mai'riage.  Such 
a  plan  was  of  a  piece  with  Mr.  Firmin's  known  prudence  and  fore- 
sight. But  they  made  an  objection  to  his  proposed  union,  which 
had  struck  us  at  home  previously.  Papa-in-law  was  well  enough, 
or  at  least  inoffensive  :  ])ut  ah,  ye  ])Owers  !  what  a  mother-in-law- 
was  poor  Phil  laying  u})  for  his  future  days  !  Two  or  three  of  our 
nuitual  companions  made  this  remark  on  returning  to  work  and 
chaml)('rs  after  their  autumn  holiday.  We  never  had  too  nnu-li 
charity  for  Mrs.  Baynes  ;  and  what  Philip  told  us  about  her  did 
not  serve  to  increase  our  regard. 

About  Ciiristmas  Mr.  Firmin's  own  atihirs  brought  him  on  a 


350  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

brief  visit  to  London.  We  were  not  jealous  that  he  took  up  his 
quarters  with  his  little  friend  of  Thornhaugh  Street,  who  was  con- 
tented that  he  should  dine  with  us,  provided  she  could  have  the 
pleasure  of  housing  him  luider  her  kind  shelter.  High  and  mighty 
people  as  we  were — for  under  what  humble  roofs  does  not  Vanity 
hold  her  sway? — we,  who  knew  Mrs.  Brandon's  virtues,  and  were 
aware  of  her  early  story,  would  have  condescended  to  receive  her 
into  our  society  ;  but  it  was  the  little  lady  herself  who  had  her 
pride,  and  held  aloof.  "  My  parents  did  not  give  nie  the  education 
you  have  had,  ma'am,"  Caroline  said  to  my  wife.  "  My  place  is 
not  here,  I  know  very  well ;  unless  you  should  be  took  ill,  and  then, 
ma'am,  you'll  see  that  I  will  be  glad  enough  to  come.  Philip  can 
come  and  see  me  ;  and  ables  sing  it  is  to  me  to  set  eyes  on  him. 
But  I  shouldn't  be  happy  in  your  drawing-room,  nor  you  in  having 
me.  The  dear  children  looked  surprised  at  my  way  of  talking ; 
and  no  wonder :  and  they  laugh  sometimes  to  one  another,  God 
bless  'em !  I  don't  mind.  My  education  was  not  cared  for.  I 
scarce  had  any  schooling  but  what  I  taught  myself.  My  pa  hadn't 
the  means  of  learning  me  much  :  and  it  is  too  late  to  go  to  school 
at  forty  odd.  I've  got  all  his  stockings  and  things  darned ;  and 
his  linen,  poor  fellow  ! — beautiful :  I  wish  they  kep'  it  as  nice  in 
France,  where  he  is  !  You'll  give  my  love  to  the  young  lady,  won't 
you,  ma'am  1  and  oli !  it's  a  blessing  to  me  to  hear  how  good  and 
gentle  she  is  !  He  has  a  high  temper,  Philip  have :  but  them  he 
likes  can  easy  manage  him.  You  have  been  his  best  kind  friends ; 
and  so  will  she  be,  I  trust ;  and  they  may  be  happy  though  they're 
poor.  But  they've  time  to  get  rich,  haven't  they  ?  And  it's  not 
the  richest  that's  the  happiest,  that  I  can  see  in  many  a  fine  house 
where  Niu-se  Brandon  goes  and  has  her  eyes  open,  though  she  don't 
say  much,  you  know."  In  this  way  Nurse  Brandon  would  prattle 
on  to  us  when  she  came  to  see  us.  She  would  share  our  meal, 
always  thanking  by  name  the  servant  who  helped  her.  She 
insisted  on  calling  our  children  "  Miss  "  and  "  Master,"  and  I  think 
those  young  satirists  did  not  laugh  often  or  unkindly  at  her  peculi- 
arities. I  know  they  were  told  that  Nurse  Brandon  was  very  good  ; 
and  that  she  took  care  of  her  fatlier  in  his  old  age ;  and  that  she 
had  passed  tlirough  very  great  griefs  and  trials ;  and  that  she  had 
nursed  Uncle  Philip  when  he  had  been  very  ill  indeed,  and  when 
many  people  would  have  been  afraid  to  come  near  him ;  and  that 
her  life  was  spent  in  tending  the  sick,  and  in  doing  good  to  her 
neighbour. 

One  day  during  Philip's  stay  with  us  we  happen  to  read  in  the 
paper  Lord  Ringwood's  arrival  in  London.  My  Lord  had  a  grand 
town-house  of  his  own  which  he  did  not  always  iidiabit.     He  liked 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      351 

the  cheerfulness  of  an  hotel  better.  Ringwood  House  was  too  large 
and  too  dismal.  He  did  not  care  to  eat  a  solitary  nuitton-chop  in  a 
great  dining-room  surrounded  by  ghostly  images  of  dead  Ringwoods — 
his  dead  son,  a  boy  wlio  had  <lied  in  liis  boyliood ;  his  dead  brother, 
attired  in  the  uniform  of  his  day  (in  wliich  ])icture  there  was  no 
little  resemblance  to  Philij)  Firmin,  the  Colonel's  grandson) ;  Lord 
Ringwood's  dead  self,  finally,  as  he  appeared  still  a  young  n)an, 
when  Lawrence  painted  him,  and  wlien  lie  was  the  companion  of 
the  Regent  and  ins  friends.  "  Ali  !  tliat's  tlie  fellow  I  least  like 
to  look  at,"  the  old  man  would  say,  scowling  at  the  picture,  and 
breaking  out  into  the  old-fashioned  oaths  which  garnislied  many 
conversations  in  his  young  days.  "  Tliat  fellow  could  ride  all  day  ; 
and  sleep  all  night,  or  go  without  sleep  as  he  chose ;  and  drink  his 
four  bottles,  and  never  have  a  headache  ;  and  break  his  collar-bone, 
and  see  the  fox  killed  three  hours  after.  That  was  once  a  man,  as 
old  Marlborough  said,  looking  at  his  own  picture.  Now  my  doctor's 
my  master;  my  doctor  and  the  infernal  gout  over  him.  I  live 
upon  pap  and  puddens,  like  a  baby  ;  oidy  I've  shed  all  my  teeth, 
hang  'em.  If  I  drink  three  glasses  of  sherry,  my  butler  tlireatcns 
me.  You  young  fellow,  who  haven't  twopence  in  your  pocket,  by 
George,  I  would  like  to  change  with  you.  Only  you  wouldn't,  hang 
you,  you  wouldn't.  Why,  I  don't  believe  Todhunter  would  change 
with  me  :  would  you,  Todhunter  1 — and  you're  about  as  fond  of  a 
great  man  as  any  fellow  I  ever  knew.  Don't  tell  me.  You  a7'e, 
sir.  Why,  when  I  walked  with  you  on  Ryde  sands  one  day,  I 
said  to  that  fellow,  '  Todluinter,  don't  you  think  I  could  order  the 
sea  to  stand  still?'  I  did.  And  you  had  never  heard  of  King 
Canute,  hanged  if  you  had,  and  never  read  any  book  except  the 
Stud-book  and  Mrs.  Glasse's  Cookery,  hanged  if  you  did."  Such 
remarks  and  conversations  of  his  relative  has  Philip  rejiorted  to  me. 
Two  or  three  men  about  town  had  very  good  imitations  of  tliis 
toothless,  growling,  blaspliemous  old  cynic.  He  was  splendid  and 
penurious  ;  violent  and  easily  led  ;  surrounded  by  flatterers  and 
utterly  lonely.  He  had  old-world  notions,  which  I  believe  have 
j)assed  out  of  the  manners  of  great  folks  now.  He  thought  it 
beneath  him  to  travel  by  railway,  and  his  postchaise  was  one  of 
the  last  on  the  road.  The  tide  rolled  on  in  si)ite  of  this  old  Canute, 
and  has  long  since  rolled  over  him  and  his  postchaise.  Why, 
almost  all  his  imitators  are  actually  dead  :  and  only  this  year,  when 
old  Jack  Mummers  gave  an  imitation  of  him  at  "  Bays's  "  (where 
Jack's  mimicry  used  to  be  received  with  shouts  of  laughter  but  a 
few  years  since),  there  was  a  dismal  silence  in  the  coffee-room, 
except  fmiii  two  or  tiiree  young  men  at  a  near  table,  who  said, 
"  What  is  the  old  fool  nuimbling  and  swearing  at  now  I     An  imita- 


352  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tion  of  Lord  Piingwood,  and  who  was  he  1 "  So  our  names  pass 
away,  and  are  forgotten  :  and  the  tallest  statues,  do  not  the  sands 
of  time  accumulate  and  overwhelm  t?ie7n  ?  I  have  not  forgotten  my 
Lord  ;  any  more  than  I  have  forgotten  the  cock  of  my  school,  about 
whom,  perliaps,  you  don't  care  to  hear.  I  see  my  Lord's  bald  head, 
and  hooked  beak,  and  bushy  eyebrows,  and  tall  velvet  collar,  and 
brass  buttons,  and  great  black  moutli,  and  trembling  hand,  and 
trembling  parasites  around  him,  and  I  can  hear  his  voice,  and  great 
oaths,  and  laughter.  You  parasites  of  to-day  are  bowing  to  other 
great  people ;  and  this  great  one,  who  was  alive  only  yesterday,  is 
as  dead  as  George  IV.  or  Nebuchadnezzar. 

Well,  we  happen  to  read  that  Philip's  noble  relative  Lord  Ring- 
wood  has  arrived  at Hotel,  whilst  Philip  is  staying  with  us  ; 

and  I  own  that  I  counsel  my  friend  to  go  and  wait  upon  his  Lord 
ship.  He  had  been  very  kind  at  Paris :  he  had  evidently  taken  a 
liking  to  Philip.  Firnun  ought  to  go  and  see  him.  Who  knows? 
Lord  Ringwo(Kl  might  be  inclined  to  do  something  for  his  brother's 
grandson. 

This  was  just  the  point  which  any  one  who  knew  Philip  should 
have  hesitated  to  urge  upon  him.  To  try  and  make  him  bow  and 
smile  on  a  great  man  with  a  view  to  future  favours,  was  to  demand 
the  impossible  from  Firmin.  Tlie  King's  men  may  lead  the  King's 
horses  to  tlie  water,  but  the  King  himself  can't  make  them  drink. 
I  own  that  I  came  back  to  the  subject,  and  urged  it  repeatedly  on 
my  friend.  "I  have  been,"  said  Philip  sulkily.  "I  have  left  a 
card  upon  him.  If  he  wants  me,  he  can  send  to  No.  120  Queen 
Square,  Westminster,  my  present  hotel.  But  if  you  think  he  will 
give  me  anything  beyond  a  dinner,  I  tell  you  you  are  mistaken." 

We  dined  that  day  with  Philip's  employer,  worthy  Mr.  Mugford, 
of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  who  was  profuse  in  his  hospitalities,  and 
especially  gracious  to  Pliilip.  Mugford  was  pleased  wath  Firmin's 
letters ;  and  you  may  be  sure  that  severer  critics  did  not  contradict 
their  friend's  good-natured  patron.  We  drove  to  the  suburban  villa 
at  Hampstead,  and  steaming  odours  of  soup,  mutton,  onions,  rushed 
out  into  the  hall  to  give  us  welcome,  and  to  warn  us  of  the  good 
cheer  in  store  for  tlie  party.  This  was  not  one  of  Mugford's  days 
for  countermanding  side  dishes,  I  promise  you.  Men  in  black  with 
noble  white  cotton  gloves  were  in  waiting  to  receive  us ;  and  Mrs. 
Mugford,  in  a  rich  blue  satin  and  feathers,  a  profusion  of  flounces, 
laces,  marabouts,  jewels,  and  eau-de-Cologne,  rose  to  welcome  us 
from  a  stately  sofa,  where  she  sat  surrounded  by  her  children. 
These,  too,  were  in  brilliant  dresses,  with  shining  new-combed  hair. 
The  ladies,  of  course,  instantly  began  to  talk  about  their  children, 
and  my  wife's  unfeigned  admiration  for  Mrs.  Mugford's  last  baby  ] 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     353 

think  won  tliat  worthy  lady's  goodwill  at  once.  I  made  some 
remark  regarding  one  of  the  boys  as  being  the  picture  of  his  father, 
which  was  not  lucky.  I  don't  know  why,  but  I  have  it  from  her 
husband's  own  admission,  that  Mrs.  Mugford  always  thinks  I  am 
"  chaffing  "  her.  One  of  the  boys  frankly  informed  me  there  was 
goose  for  dinner ;  and  when  a  cheerful  cloop  ^\  as  heard  from  a 
neighbouring  room,  told  me  that  was  pa  drawing  the  corks.  Why 
should  Mrs.  Mugford  reprove  the  outs})oken  child  and  say,  "James, 
hold  your  tongue,  do  now  "  'I  Better  wine  than  Avas  poured  forth, 
when  those  corks  were  drawn,  never  flowed  from  bottle. — I  say,  I 
never  saw  better  wine  nor  more  bottles.  If  ever  a  table  may  be 
said  to  have  groaned,  that  expression  might  with  justice  be  applied 
to  Mugford's  mahogany.  Talbot  Twysden  would  have  feasted  forty 
people  with  the  meal  here  ])rovided  for  eight  by  our  most  hospitable 
entertainer.  Though  Mugford's  editor  was  present,  who  thinks 
himself  a  very  fine  fellow,  I  assure  you,  but  whose  name  I  am  not 
at  liberty  to  divulge,  all  the  honours  of  the  entertainment  were  for 
the  Paris  Correspondent,  who  was  specially  requested  to  take 
Mrs.  M.  to  dinner.  As  an  earl's  grand-nephew,  and  a  lord's  great- 
grandson,  of  course  we  felt  that  this  })lace  of  honour  was  Firmin's 
right.  How  Mrs.  Mugford  pressed  him  to  eat  !  She  carved — I 
am  vei-y  glad  she  would  not  let  Philip  carve  for  her,  for  he  might 
have  sent  the  goose  into  her  lap — she  carved,  I  say,  and  I  really 
think  she  gave  him  more  stuffing  than  to  any  of  us,  but  that  may 
have  been  mere  envy  on  my  part.  Allusions  to  Lonl  Ringwood 
were  repeatedly  made  during  dinner.  "  Lord  R.  has  come  to  town, 
Mr.  r.,  I  perceive,"  says  Mugford,  winking.  "You've  been  to  see 
him,  of  course  % "  Mr.  Firmin  glared  at  me  very  fiercely,  he  had 
to  own  he  had  been  to  call  on  Loi'd  Ringwood.  Mugford  led  the 
conversation  to  the  noble  lord  so  frecpiently  that  Philip  madly  kicked 
my  shins  under  the  table.  I  don't  know  how  many  times  I  had  to 
suffer  from  that  foot  which  in  its  time  has  trampleil  on  so  many 
l)ersons :  a  kick  for  each  time  Lord  Ringwood's  name,  houses, 
l»arks,  properties,  were  mentioned,  was  a  frightful  allowance.  Mrs. 
Mugford  would  say,  "  May  I  assist  you  to  a  little  ])heasant,  Mr. 
Firmin'?  I  daresay  they  are  not  as  good  as  Lord  Ringwood's  "  (a 
kick  from  Phili]))  ;  or  Mugford  would  exclaim,  "  Mr.  F.,  try  that 
'ock  !  Lord  Ringwood  hasn't  better  wine  tlian  that."  (Dreadful 
punishment  upon  my  tibia  uikUt  tlie  tal)lc.)  "  Jolin  !  Two  'ocks, 
me  and  Mr.  Firmin.  Join  us,  Mr.  P.,"  and  so  forth.  And  after 
dinner,  to  the  ladies — as  my  wife,  who  betrayed  their  mysteries, 
informed  me — Mrs.  Mugford's  conversation  was  incessant  regarding 
the  RingAvood  family  and  Firmin's  relationship  to  that  noble  house. 
The  meeting  of  the  old  lord  and  Finnin  in  Paris  was  discussed  with 

n  z 


354^  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

immense  interest.  "  His  Lordship  culled  liini  Philip  most  affable  ! 
he  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Firinin."  A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs. 
Mugford  that  somebody  else  was  very  fond  of  Mr.  Firmin.  She 
hoped  it  would  be  a  match,  and  that  his  Lordship  would  do  the 
handsome  thing  liy  his  nephew.  What  1  My  wife  wondered  that 
Mrs.   Mugford   should   know  about    Philip's   affairs  %    (and  wonder 

indeed  she  did).     A  little  bird  had  told  Mrs.  M ,  a  friend  of 

both  ladies,  that  dear  good  little  nurse  Brandon,  who  was  engaged — 
and  here  the  conversation  went  off  into  mysteries  which  I  certainly 
shall  not  reveal.  Suffice  it  that  Mrs.  Mugford  was  one  of  Mrs. 
Brandon's  best,  kindest,  and  most  constant  patrons — or  miglit  I  be 
permitted  to  say  matrons  1 — and  had  received  a  most  favourable 
report  of  us  from  the  little  nurse.  And  here  Mrs.  Pendennis  gave 
a  verbatim  report  not  only  of  our  hostess's  speecth,  but  of  lier 
manner  and  accent.  "Yes,  ma'am,"  says  Mrs.  Mugford  to  Mrs. 
Pendennis,  "  our  friend  Mrs.  B.  has  told  me  of  a  certain  (jentleman 
whose  name  shall  be  nameless.  His  manner  is  cold,  not  to  say 
'aughty.  He  seems  to  be  laughing  at  people  sometimes — don't  say 
No ;  I  saw  him  once  or  twice  at  dinner,  both  him  and  Mr.  Firmin. 
But  he  is  a  true  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon  says  he  is.  And  when  you 
know  him,  his  heart  is  good."  Is  if?  Amen.  A  distinguished 
writer  has  composed,  in  not  very  late  days,  a  comedy  in  which  the 
cheerful  moral  is,  that  we  are  "  not  so  bad  as  we  seem."  Aren't 
we  1  Amen,  again.  Give  us  thy  hearty  hand,  lago !  Tartuffe, 
how  the  world  has  been  mistaken  in  you  !  Macbeth  !  put  that 
little  affair  of  the  murder  out  of  your  mind.  It  was  a  momentary 
weakness  ;  and  who  is  not  weak  at  times  1  Blifil,  a  more  maligned 
man  than  you  does  not  exist !  0  humanity  !  how  w^e  have  been 
mistaken  in  you- !  Let  us  expunge  the  vulgar  expression  "  miseraljle 
sinners  "  out  of  all  jM-ayer-books ;  open  the  portholes  of  all  hulks  ; 
break  the  chains  of  all  convicts ;  and  luilock  the  boxes  of  all 
spoons. 

As  we  discussed  Mr.  Mugford's  entertainment  on  our  return 
home,  I  improved  the  occasion  with  Philip;  I  pointed  out  the 
reasonableness  of  the  hopes  which  lie  miglit  entertain  of  help  from 
his  wealthy  kinsman,  and  actually  forced  him  to  promise  to  wait 
upon  my  Lord  the  next  day.  Now,  when  Philip  Firmin  did  a 
thing  against  his  will,  he  did  it  with  a  bad  grace.  When  he  is  not 
pleased,  he  does  not  pretend  to  be  happy  ;  and  when  he  is  sulky, 
Mr.  Firmin  is  a  very  disagreeable  companion.  Though  he  never 
once  reproached  me  afterwards  with  what  happened,  I  own  that 
I  have  had  cruel  twinges  of  conscience  since.  If  I  had  not  sent 
him  on  that  dutiful  visit  to  his  grand-uncle,  what  occurred  might 
never,  perliaps,  have  occurred  at  all.      I  acted  for  the  best,  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    AVORLD     355 

that  I  aver ;  however  I  may  grieve  for  the  consequences  which 
ensued  when  the  poor  fellow  followed  my  advice. 

If  Philii)  held  aloof  from  Lord  Ringwood  in  London,  you  may 
1)0  sure  Philip's  dear  cousins  were  in  waiting  on  iiis  Lordsliip,  and 
never  lost  an  opportunity  of  showing  their  respectful  symitathy. 
Was  Lord  Ringwood  ailing"?  Mr.  Twysden,  or  Mrs.  Twysden,  or 
the  dear  girls,  or  Ringwood  their  brother,  -were  daily  in  his  Lord- 
ship's antechamlu'r,  asking  for  news  of  his  health.  They  bent  down 
I'espoctfully  before  Lord  Ringwood's  major-domo.  They  would 
have  given  liim  money,  as  they  always  averred,  only  what  sum 
could  they  give  to  such  a  man  as  Rudge?  They  actually  offered 
to  bribe  Mr.  Rudge  with  their  wine,  over  which  he  made  horrible 
faces.  Tliey  fawned  and  smiled  before  him  always.  I  shoukl  like 
to  have  seen  that  calm  Mrs.  Twysden,  that  serene  high-bred  woman, 
who  would  cut  her  dearest  friend  if  misfortune  befell  her,  or  the 
world  turned  its  back ; — I  should  like  to  have  seen,  and  can  see 
her  in  my  mind's  eye,  simpering  and  coaxing,  and  Avheedling  this 
footman.  Slie  made  cheap  presents  to  I\lr.  Rudge  :  she  smiled  on 
him  and  asked  after  liis  health.  And  of  course  Talbot  Twysden 
Hattered  him  too  in  Talbot's  jolly  w^ay.  It  was  a  wink,  and  nod, 
and  a  hearty  "  How  do  you  do  1  "■ — and  (after  due  inquiries  made 
and  answered  about  his  Lordship)  it  would  be,  "Rudge!  I  think 
my  liousekeei)er  has  a  good  glass  of  port-wine  in  her  I'oom,  if  you 
happen  to  be  passing  that  way,  and  my  Lord  don't  want  you  !  " 
And  with  a  grave  courtesy,  I  can  fancy  Mr.  Rudge  bowing  to  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Twysden,  and  thanking  them,  and  descending  to  Mrs. 
Blenkinsop's  skinny  room  where  the  port-wine  is  ready — and  if 
Mr.  Rudge  and  Mrs.  Blenkinsop  are  contidential,  I  can  fancy  their 
talking  over  the  characters  and  peculiaiitics  of  the  folks  upstairs. 
Servants  sometimes  actually  do  ;  and  if  master  and  mistress  are 
humbugs,  these  wretched  menials  sometimes  tind  them  out. 

Now.  no  duke  could  be  more  lordly  and  condescending  in  his 
bearing  than  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  towards  the  nieiual  throng.  In 
tliose  days,  when  he  had  money  in  his  poc^kets,  he  gave  Mr.  Rudge 
out  of  liis  plenty;  and  tlie  man  remembered  his  generosity  when  he 
was  ])oor  ;  and  declared — in  a  select  society,  and  in  the  company  of 
tlie  relative  of  a  person  from  whom  I  have  the  inf  irmation — declared 
in  the  jiresence  of  Captain  Gann  at  the  "  Vdiniral  15 — ng"  C'luli  in 
fact,  that  Mr.  Heff'  was  always  a  swell  ;  but  since  he  w^as  done,  he, 
Rudge,  "  was  blest  if  that  young  chap  warn't  a  greater  swell  than 
hever."  And  Rudge  actually  liked  this  jxior  young  f(-llow  better 
than  the  family  in  Beaunash  Street,  whnm  Mr.  11.  ]iinnouiiced  to 
be  "a  shabby  l(jt."  And  in  fact  it  was  liudge  as  well  as  myself, 
who  advised  tliat  Philip  should  see  Ins  Lordship. 


356  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

When  at  length  Philip  paid  his  second  visit,  Mr.  Rudge  said, 
"  My  Lord  will  see  you,  sir,  I  think.  He  has  been  speaking  of 
you.  He's  very  unwell.  He's  going  to  have  a  fit  of  the  gout,  I 
think.  I'll  tell  him  you  are  here."  And  coming  back  to  Philip, 
after  a  brief  disappearance,  and  with  rather  a  scared  face,  he  re- 
peated the  permission  to  enter,  and  again  cautioned  him,  saying, 
that  "  my  Lord  was  very  queer." 

In  fact,  as  we  learned  aftei'wards,  through  the  channel  previously 
indicated,  my  L(jrd,  when  he  heard  that  Philip  had  called,  cried, 
"  He  has,  has  he  ?  Hang  him,  send  him  in ; "  using,  I  am  con- 
strained to  say,  in  place  of  the  monosyllable  "  hang,"  a  much  stronger 
expression. 

"Oh,  it's  you,  is  it?"  says  my  Lord.  "You  have  been  in 
London  ever  so  long.     Twysden  told  me  of  you  yesterday." 

"  I  have  called  before,  sir,"  said  Philip,  very  quietly. 

"  I  wonder  you  have  the  foce  to  call  at  all,  sir  ! "  cries  the  old 
man,  glaring  at  Philip.  His  Lordship's  countenance  was  of  a  gam- 
boge colour :  his  noble  eyes  were  bloodshot  and  starting ;  his  voice, 
always  very  harsli  and  strident,  was  now  specially  unpleasant ;  and 
from  the  crater  of  his  mouth  shot  loud  exploding  oaths. 

"Face,  my  Lord?"  says  Philip,  still  very  meek. 

"  Yes,  if  you  call  that  a  face  which  is  covered  over  with  hair 
like  a  baboon  !  "  growled  my  Lord,  showing  his  tusks.  "  Twysden 
was  here  last  night,  and  tells  me  some  pretty  news  about  you." 

Piiilip  Ijlushed ;  he  knew  what  the  news  most  likely  would  be. 

"  Twysden  says  that  now  you  are  a  pauper,  by  George,  and 
living  by  breaking  stones  in  the  street, — you  have  been  such  an 
infernal,  drivelling,  hanged  fool  as  to  engage  yourself  to  another 
pauper ! " 

Poor  Philip  turned  white  from  red  ;  and  spoke  slowly  :  "  I  beg 
your  pardon,  my  Lord,  you  said " 

"  I  said  you  were  a  hanged  fool,  sir !  "  roared  tlie  old  man  ; 
"  can't  you  hear  1 " 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  member  of  your  family,  my  Lord,"  says 
Philip,  rising  up.  In  a  quarrel,  he  would  sometimes  lose  his  temper, 
and  speak  out  his  mind ;  or  sometimes,  and  then  he  was  most 
dangerous,  he  would  be  especially  calm  and  Graudisonian. 

"  Some  hanged  adventurer,  thinking  you  were  to  get  money 
from  me,  has  liooked  you  for  his  daughter,  lias  he  1 " 

"  I  have  engaged  myself  to  a  young  lady,  and  I  am  the  poorer 
of  the  two,"  says  Philip. 

"  Slie  thinks  you  will  get  money  from  me,"  continues  his 
Lordship. 

"  Does  she  1     I  never  did  !  "  replied  Philip. 


A    QUARUKL. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     357 

"By  Heaven,  you  shan't,  unless  you  fjive  up  this  rubbish." 

"  I  shan't  give  her  up,  sir,  and  I  shall  do  without  the  money," 
said  Mr.  Firmin  very  boldly. 

"  Go  to  Tartarus  !  "  screamed  the  old  man. 

On  which  Philip  told  us,  "  I  said,  '  Seniores  priores,  my  Lord,' 
and  turned  on  my  heel.  So  you  see  if  he  was  going  to  leave  me 
something,  and  he  nearly  said  he  was,  that  chance  is  passed  now, 
and  I  have  made  a  pretty  morning's  work."  And  a  pretty  morning's 
work  it  was  :  and  it  was  I  who  had  set  him  upon  it !  My  brave 
Philip  not  only  did  not  rebuke  me  for  having  sent  him  on  this 
errand,  but  took  the  blame  of  the  business  on  himself.  "  Since  I 
have  been  engaged,"  he  said,  "  I  am  growing  dreadfully  avaricious, 
and  am  almost  as  sordid  about  money  as  those  Twysdens.  I  cringed 
to  that  old  man  :  I  crawled  before  his  gouty  feet.  Well,  I  could 
crawl  from  here  to  St.  James's  Palace  to  get  some  money  for  my 
little  Charlotte."  Philip  cringe  and  crawl !  If  there  were  no 
posture-masters  more  sup]>le  than  Philip  Firmin,  kotowing  would 
be  a  lost  art,  like  the  Mcniiet  de  la  Cour.  But  fear  not,  ye  great ! 
Men's  backs  were  made  to  liend,  and  the  race  of  parasites  is  still  in 
good  repute. 

When  our  friend  told  us  how  his  brief  interview  with  Lord 
Ringwood  had  begun  and  ended,  I  think  those  wlio  counselled  Philip 
to  wait  upon  his  grand-uncle  felt  rather  ashamed  of  their  worldly 
wisdom  and  the  advice  which  they  had  given.  We  ought  to  have 
known  our  Huron  sufficiently  to  be  aware  that  it  was  a  dangerous 
experiment  to  set  him  bowing  in  lords'  antechambers.  Were  not 
his  elbows  sure  to  break  some  courtly  china,  his  feet  to  tramide  and 
tear  some  lace  train  ?  So  all  the  good  we  had  done  was  to  occasion 
a  quarrel  between  him  and  his  patron.  Lord  Ringwood  avowed 
that  he  had  intended  to  leave  Philip  money ;  and  by  thrusting  the 
poor  fellow  into  tlie  old  nobleman's  sick  chamber,  we  had  occasioned 
a  quarrel  between  the  relatives,  who  parted  with  mutual  threats 
and  anger.  "  Oh,  dear  me  !  "  I  groaned  in  connubial  colloquies. 
"Let  us  get  him  away.  Wo  will  be  boxing  Mugford's  ears  next, 
and  telling  Mrs.  Mugford  that  she  is  vulgar,  and  a  bore."  He  was 
eager  to  get  back  to  his  work,  or  rather  to  his  lady-love,  at  Paris. 
We  did  not  try  to  detain  him.  For  fear  of  further  accidents  we 
were  rather  anxious  that  he  sliould  be  gone.  Crcstfnllen  and  sad, 
I  accompanied  him  to  the  Bouh>gne  boat.  He  paid  for  his  place  in 
the  second  cabin,  and  stoutly  bade  us  adieu.  A  rough  night :  a 
wet  slippery  deck  :  a  crowd  of  frowzy  fellow-j)assengers  :  and  poor 
Philip  ill  the  midst  of  them  in  a  thin  cloak,  his  yellow  hair  and 
beard  l)lowiiig  about :  I  see  the  steamer  now,  and  left  her  with  I 
know  not  wjiat  feelings  of  contrition  and  shame.     Why  had  I  sent 


358  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Philip  to  call  upon  that  savage  overbearing  okl  patron  of  liis  ] 
Why  compelled  him  to  that  bootless  act  of  submission  ?  Lord 
Ringwood's  brutalities  were  matters  of  common  notoriety.  A  wicked, 
dissolute,  cynical  old  man  :  and  Ave  must  try  to  make  friends  with 
this  mammon  of  unrighteousness,  and  set  poor  Philiji  to  l)i)w  before 
him  and  flatter  liim  !  Ah,  inea  cufj/a,  mea  ciiljxi  !  The  wind 
blew  hard  that  winter  niglit,  and  many  tiles  and  ehiuniey-[)ots 
blew  down  :  and  as  I  thought  of  poor  Philip  tossing  in  tlie  frowzy 
second-cabin,  I  rolled  about  my  own  bed  very  vmeasily. 

I  looked  into  "  Bays's  "  Club  the  day  after,  and  there  fell  on 
both  the  Twysdens.  The  parasite  of  a  father  was  clinging  to  tlie 
button  of  a  great  man  when  I  entered ;  the  little  reptile  of  a  son 
came  to  the  club  in  Captain  Woolcomb's  brougham,  and  in  that 
distinguished  mulatto  officer's  company.  They  looked  at  me  in  a 
peculiar  way.  I  was  sure  they  did.  Talbot  Twysden,  pouring  his 
loml  braggart  talk  in  tlie  ear  of  poor  Lord  Lepel,  eyed  me  with  a 
glance  of  triumph,  and  talked  and  swaggered  so  that  I  should  hear. 
Ringwood  Twysden  and  AVoolcomb,  drinking  absinthe  to  whet  their 
noble  appetites,  exchanged  ghinces  and  grins.  WoolcomlVs  eyes 
were  of  the  colour  of  the  alisintlie  he  swallowed.  I  did  not  see 
that  Twysden  tore  ott'  one  of  Lonl  Lepel's  buttons,  but  that  noble- 
man, with  a  scai-ed  countenance,  moved  away  rapidly  from  his  little 
persecutor.  "  Hang  him,  throw  him  over,  and  come  to  me  !  "  I 
heard  the  generous  Twysden  say.  "  I  expect  Ringwood  and  one 
or  two  more."  At  this  proposition.  Lord  Lepel,  in  a  tremulous 
way,  muttered  that  he  could  not  break  his  engagement,  and  fled 
out  of  the  club. 

Twysden's  dinners,  the  polite  reader  has  been  previously  in- 
formed, were  notorious  ;  and  he  constantly  bragged  of  having  the 
company  of  Lord  Ringwood.  Now  it  so  happened  that  on  this  very 
evening.  Lord  Ringwood,  with  three  of  his  followers,  henchmen,  or 
led  captains,  dined  at  "  Bays's  "  Club,  being  determined  to  see  a 
pantomime  in  which  a  very  pretty  young  Columbine  figured;  and 
some  one  in  the  house  joked  with  his  Lordship,  and  said,  "  Why, 
you  are  going  to  dine  witli  Talbot  Twysden.  He  said,  just  now, 
that  he  expected  you." 

"Did  hel"  said  his  Lordship.  "Then  Talbot  Twysden  told  a 
hanged  lie  ! "  And  little  Tom  Eaves,  my  informant,  remembered 
these  remarkable  words,  because  of  a  circumstance  which  now 
almost  immediately  followed. 

A  very  few  days  after  Philip's  departure,  our  friend,  the  Little 
Sister,  came  to  us  at  our  breakfast-table,  wearing  an  expression  of 
much  trouble  and  sadness  on  her  kind  little  face  ;  tlie  causes  of 
whioh  sorrow  she  explained  to  us,  as  soon  as  our  chiklren  had  gone 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    AVORLD     359 

away  to  tlieir  sclKKilrooin.  Amongst  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends,  and 
one  of  her  father's  constant  coniiianions,  was  tlie  worthy  Mv.  Ridley, 
father  of  the  celebrated  painter  of  that  name,  wlio  was  himself  of 
mnch  too  hononra.Mc  and  nolilo  a  nature  to  be  ashamed  of  his 
liumble  paternal  origin.  C!omi)anionshij)  between  father  and  son 
could  not  be  very  close  or  intimate ;  especially  as  in  the  younger 
Ridley's  boyhood,  his  father,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  fine  arts, 
had  looked  ujjon  the  child  as  a  sickly  half-witted  creature,  who 
would  be  to  his  parents  but  a  grief  and  a  burden.  But  when  J.  J. 
Ridley,  Esquire,  began  to  attain  eminence  in  his  profession  his 
father's  eyes  were  opened ;  in  place  of  neglect  and  contem})t,  he 
looked  up  to  his  boy  with  a  sincere  naive  admiration,  and  often, 
with  tears,  has  narrated  the  ])ride  and  pleasure  Avliich  he  felt  on  the 
day  when  he  waited  on  John  James  at  his  master  Lord  Todniorden's 
table.  Ridley  senior  now  felt  that  he  had  been  unkind  and  unjust 
to  his  boy  in  the  hitter's  early  days,  and  with  a  very  touching  humi- 
lity the  old  man  acknowledged  liis  ])revious  injustice,  and  tried  to 
atone  for  it  by  i)resent  respect  an<l  affection. 

Though  fondness  for  his  son,  and  delight  in  the  company  of 
Captain  Gann,  often  drew  Mr.  Ridley  to  Thornhaugh  Street,  and 
to  the  "Admiral  Byiig  "  (jlul),  of  which  both  were  leading  members, 
Ridley  senior  belonged  to  other  clubs  at  the  West  End,  where  Lonl 
Todniorden's  butler  consorted  with  the  confidential  butlers  of  others 
of  the  nobility  :  and  I  am  informed  that  in  those  clubs  Ridley  con- 
tinued to  be  (tailed  "Todmorden"  long  after  his  connection  with  that 
venerable  nobleman  had  ceased.  He  continued  to  be  called  Lord 
Todmorden,  in  fact,  just  as  Lord  Poiiinjoy  is  still  called  by  his  old 
friends  Popinjoy,  though  his  fatlier  is  dead,  and  Poi)injoy,  as  every- 
body knows,  is  at  i)rescnt  Earl  of  Pintado. 

At  one  of  these  clubs  of  their  order.  Lord  Todniorden's  man 
was  in  the  constant  hal)it  of  meeting  Lord  Ringwood's  man,  when 
their  Lordsiiips  (master  and  man)  were  in  town.  These  gentlemen 
had  a  regard  for  each  other ;  and,  when  they  met,  communicated 
to  each  other  their  views  of  society,  and  their  opinions  of  the 
characters  of  the  various  noble  lords  and  infiuentiai  commoners 
whom  they  served.  Mr.  Rudge  knew  everything  about  Pliih'p 
Firmin's  affairs,  about  tiu;  Doctor's  flight,  about  Plii]ii)'s  generous 
behaviour.  "Generous!  /  call  it  admiral  1  "  old  Ridley  re- 
marked, while  narrating  this  trait  of  our  friend's — and  his  present 
position.  Ami  llinluc  cniitrasrcd  I'hilip's  manly  behaviour  with 
the  conduct  of  some  .•oird/rs  Aviiicii  he  would  not  name  them,  but 
which  they  were  always  speaking  ill  of  the  ])oor  young  fellow  be- 
iiiiid  his  back,  and  sneaking  u]»  to  my  Lord,  an<l  greater  skinflints 
and   meaner  humbugs    never  were :    and  there  was  uo  accounting 


360  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

for  tastes,  but  he,    Rudge,  would   not   marry   hts  daughter    to   a 
black  man. 

Now  :  that  day  when  Mr.  Firmin  went  to  see  my  Lord  Ring- 
wood  was  one  of  my  Lord's  very  worst  days,  when  it  was  almost 
as  dangerous  to  go  near  him  as  to  approach  a  Bengal  tiger.  When 
he  is  going  to  have  a  fit  of  gout,  his  Lordship  (Mr.  Rudge  remarked) 
Avas  hawful.  "  He  curse  and  swear,  he  do,  at  everybody  ;  even  the 
clergy  or  the  ladies — all's  one.  On  that  very  day  when  Mr.  Firmin 
called  he  had  said  to  Mr.  Twysden,  '  Get  out,  and  don't  come 
slandering,  and  back-biting,  and  bullying  that  poor  devil  of  a  boy 
any  more.  It's  blackguardly,  by  George,  sir — it's  blackguardly.' 
And  Twysden  came  out  with  his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  he  says 
to  me — 'Rudge,'  says  he,  'my  Lord's  micommon  bad  to-day.' 
Well,  he  hadn't  been  gone  an  hour  when  pore  Philip  comes,  bad 
luck  to  him,  and  my  Lord,  who  had  just  heard  from  Twysden  all 
about  that  young  woman — that  party  at  Paris,  Mr.  Ridley — and  it 
is  about  as  great  a  piece  of  folly  as  ever  I  heard  tell  of —my  Lord 
turns  upon  the  pore  young  fellar  and  call  him  names  worse  than 
Twysden.  But  Mr.  Firmin  ain't  that  sort  of  man,  he  isn't.  He 
won't  suffer  any  man  to  call  hi?u  names ;  and  I  suppose  he  gave 
my  Lord  his  own  back  again,  for  I  heard  my  Lord  swear  at  him 
tremendous,  I  did,  with  my  own  ears.  When  my  Lord  has  the 
gout  flying  about  I  told  you  he  is  awful.  When  he  takes  his 
colchicum  he's  worse.  Now,  we  have  got  a  party  at  Whipham 
at  Christmas,  and  at  Whipham  we  must  be.  And  he  took  his 
colchicum  night  before  last,  and  to-day  he  was  in  such  a  tremendous 
rage  of  swearing,  cursing,  and  blowing  up  everybody,  that  it  was  as 
if  he  was  red  hot.  And  when  Twysden  and  Mrs.  Twysden  called 
that  day — -(if  you  kick  that  fellar  out  at  the  hall  door,  I'm  blest  if 
he  won't  come  smirking  down  the  chimney) — he  wouldn't  see  any 
of  them.  And  he  bawled  out  after  me,  '  If  Firmin  comes,  kick  him 
downstairs — do  you  hear  1 '  with  ever  so  many  oaths  and  curses 
against  the  poor  fellow,  Avhile  he  vowed  he  would  never  see  his 
hanged  impudent  face  again.  But  this  wasn't  all,  Ridley.  He 
sent  for  Bradgate,  his  lawyer,  that  very  day.  He  had  back  his 
will,  which  I  signed  myself  as  one  of  the  witnesses — me  and  Wilcox, 
the  master  of  the  hotel — and  I  know  he  had  left  Firmin  something 
in  it.  Take  my  word  for  it.  To  that  poor  young  fellow  he  means 
mischief."  A  full  report  of  this  conversation  Mr.  Ridley  gave  to 
his  little  friend  Mrs.  Brandon,  knowing  the  interest  which  Mrs. 
Brandon  took  in  the  young  gentleman  ;  and  with  these  unpleasant 
news  Mrs.  Brandon  came  off"  to  advise  with  those  vv^ho — the  good 
nurse  was  pleased  to  say — were  Philip's  best  friends  in  the  world. 
We  wished  we  could  give  tlie  Little  Sister  comfort :  but  all  the 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     Sbi 

world  knew  what  a  man  Lord  Ringwood  was — how  arbitrary,  how 
revengeful,  how  cruel ! 

I  knew  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer,  with  whom  I  had  business, 
and  called  upon  him,  more  anxious  to  speak  about  Philip's  affairs 
than  my  own.  I  sujijjose  I  was  too  eager  in  coming  to  my  point, 
for  Bradgate  saw  the  meaning  of  my  (questions,  and  declined  to 
answer  them.  "My  client  and  I  are  not  the  dearest  friends  in 
the  world,"  Bradgate  said,  "  but  I  must  keep  his  counsel,  and  must 
not  tell  you  wliether  Mr.  Firmin's  name  is  down  in  his  Lordship's 
will  or  not.  How  sliould  I  know '?  He  may  have  altered  his  will. 
He  may  have  left  Firmin  money  ;  he  may  have  left  him  none.  I 
hope  young  Firmin  does  not  count  on  a  legacy.  That's  all.  He 
may  be  disappointed  if  he  does.  Why,  you  may  hope  for  a  legacy 
from  Lord  Ringwood,  and  you  may  be  disappointed.  I  know 
scores  of  people  who  do  hope  for  something,  and  who  won't  get 
a  penny."  And  this  was  all  the  reply  I  could  get  at  that  time 
from  the  oracular  little  lawyer. 

I  told  my  wife,  as  of  course  every  dutiful  man  tells  everything 
to  every  dutiful  wife  :  but,  though  Bradgate  discouraged  us,  there 
was  somehow  a  lurking  hope  still  that  the  old  nobleman  would 
provide  for  our  friend.  Then  Philip  wo\M  marry  Charlotte.  Then 
he  would  earn  ever  so  mucli  more  money  by  his  newspaper.  Then 
he  would  be  happy  ever  after.  My  wife  counts  eggs  not  only 
before  they  are  hatched,  but  before  they  are  laid.  Never  was  such 
an  obstinate  hopefulness  of  character.  I,  on  the  other  hand,  take 
a  rational  and  despondent  view  of  things;  and  if  they  turn  out 
better  ttian  I  expect,  as  sometimes  they  will,  I  atfably  own  that 
I  have  been  mistaken. 

But  an  early  day  came  when  Mr.  Bradgate  was  no  longer  need- 
ful, or  when  he  thought  himself  released  from  the  obligations  of 
silence  with  regard  to  his  noble  client.  It  was  two  days  before 
Christmas,  and  I  took  my  accustomed  afternoon  saunter  to  "  Bays's," 
where  other  hahifues  of  tiie  club  were  asseml)led.  There  was  no 
little  buzzing  and  excitement  among  the  frequenters  of  the  place. 
Talbot  Twysden  always  arrived  at  "Bays's"  at  ten  minutes  past 
four,  and  scuffled  for  the  evening  })aper,  as  if  its  contents  were 
matter  of  great  importance  to  Talbot.  He  would  hold  men's 
buttons,  and  discourse  to  them  the  leading  article  out  of  that 
paper  with  an  astounding  emjihasis  and  gravity.  On  this  day, 
some  ten  mimites  after  his  accustomed  hour,  he  reached  the  club. 
Other  gentlemen  were  engaged  in  perusing  the  evening  journal. 
The  lamps  on  the  tables  lighted  up  the  bald  heads,  the  grey  heads, 
dyed  heads,  and  the  wigs  of  many  assembled  fogies — murnuu-s 
went  about  the  room  :    "  Very  sudden."     "  Gout  in  the  stomach." 


362  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Dined  here  only  four  days  ago."  "  Looked  very  well."  "  Very 
wein  No  !  Never  saw  a  fellow  look  worse  in  my  life."  "Yellow 
as  a  guinea."  "  Couldn't  eat."  "  Swore  dreadfully  at  the  waiters, 
and  at  Tom  Eaves  who  dined  with  him."  "  Seventy-six,  I  see. — 
Born  in  the  same  year  with  the  Duke  of  York."  "  Forty  thousand 
a  year."  "  Forty  1  fifty-eight  tliou.sand  three  hundred,  I  tell  you. 
Always  been  a  saving  man."  "Estate  goes  to  his  cousin,  Sir  John 
Ringwood  ;  not  a  member  here — member  of  '  Boodle's.'  "  "  Hated 
each  otlier  furiously.  Very  violent  temper,  the  old  fellow  was. 
Never  got   over  the    Reform   Bill,  they  used  to  say."     "  Wonder 

whether  he'll  leave  anything  to  old  bow-wow  Twys "      Here 

enters  Talbot  Twysden,  Esquire. — "Ha,  Colonel!  How  are  you? 
What's  the  news  to-night  1  Kept  late  at  my  office,  making  up 
accounts.  Going  down  to  Whipham  to-morrow  to  pass  Christmas 
with  my  wife's  uncle — Ringwood,  you  know.  Always  go  down  to 
Whipham  at  Christmas.  Keeps  the  pheasants  for  us.  No  longer 
a  hunting  man  myself.     Lost  my  nerve,  by  George  ! " 

Whilst  the  braggart  little  creature  indulged  in  this  pompous 
talk,  he  did  not  see  the  significant  looks  which  were  fixed  upon 
him,  or  if  he  remarked  them,  was  perhaps  pleased  by  the  atten- 
tion which  he  excited.  "  Bays's  "  had  long  echoed  with  Twysden's 
account  of  Ringwood,  the  pheasants,  his  own  loss  of  nerve  in  hunt- 
ing, and  the  sum  which  their  family  would  inherit  at  the  death  of 
their  noble  relative. 

"  I  think  I  have  heard  you  say  Sir  John  Ringwood  inherits 
after  your  relative  1 "  asked  Mr.  Hookliam. 

"  Yes  ;  the  estate,  not  the  title.  The  earldom  goes  to  my  Loi-d 
and  his  heirs,  Hookliam.  Why  shouldn't  he  marry  again  1  I  often 
say  to  him,  '  Ringwood,  why  don't  you  marry,  if  it's  only  to  dis- 
appoint that  Wlag  fellow.  Sir  John?  You  are  fresh  and  hale, 
Ringwood.  You  may  live  twenty  years,  five-and-twenty  years. 
If  you  leave  your  niece  and  my  children  anything,  we're  not  in  a 
hurry  to  inherit,'  I  say  ;  '  why  don't  you  marry  1 '  " 

"  Ah  !  Twysden,  he's  past  marrying,"  groans  Mr.  Hookham. 

"  Not  at  all.  Sober  man,  now.  Stout  man.  Immense  power- 
fid  man.  Healthy  man,  but  for  gout.  I  often  say  to  him, 
'  Ringwood  !  I  say '  " 

"  Oil,  for  mercy's  sake,  stop  this  ! "  groans  old  Mr.  Tremlett, 
who  always  begins  to  shudder  at  the  sound  of  poor  Twysden's  voice. 
"  Tell  him,  somebody." 

"Haven't  you  heard,  Twysden"?  Haven't  you  seen?  Don't 
you  know  1 "  asks  Mr.  Hookham  solemnly. 

"Heard,  seen,  known — what?"  cries  the  other. 

"  An  accident  has  lia])pened  to  Lord  Ringwoo<l.      Look  at  the 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     363 

paper.     Here  it  is."     And  Twy.sdeii  jtulls  out  his  great  gold  eye- 
glasses, holds  tlie  pajjer  as  far  as  his  little  arm  will  reach,  and- 


and  mercifid  Powers  ' but  I  will  not  venture  to  depict  the  agony 

on  tliat  noble  face.  Like  Tinianthes  the  jjainter,  I  hide  this 
Agamemnon  with  a  veil.  I  cast  the  Globe  newspaper  over  him. 
Illabatur  orbis :  and  let  imagination  depict  our  Twysden  under 
the  ruins. 

What  Twysden  read  in  tlie  Globe  was  a  mere  curt  paragraph  ; 
but  in  next  morning's  Tmies  there  was  one  of  those  obituary  notices 
to  which  noblemen  of  eminence  must  submit  from  the  mysterious 
necrographer  engaged  by  that  paper. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

PULVIS  ET   UMBRA  SUMUS 

THE  first  and  only  Earl  of  Ringwood  has  submitted  to  the  fate 
which  peers  and  commoners  are  alike  destined  to  undergo. 
Hastening  to  his  magnificent  seat  of  Whipham  Market, 
where  he  proposed  to  entertain  an  illustrious  Christmas  party,  his 
Lordship  left  London  scarcely  recovered  from  an  attack  of  gout  to 
which  he  has  been  for  many  years  a  martyr.  The  disease  must 
have  flown  to  his  stomach,  and  suddenly  mastered  him.  At 
Turreys  Regum,  thirty  miles  from  his  own  princely  habitation, 
where  he  had  been  accustomed  to  dine  on  his  almost  Royal  pro- 
gresses to  his  home,  he  was  already  in  a  state  of  dreadful  suffering, 
to  which  his  attendants  did  not  pay  the  attention  which  his  condi- 
tion ought  to  liave  excited ;  for  when  labouring  under  this  most 
painful  malady  his  outcries  were  loud,  and  his  language  and 
demeanour  exceedingly  violent.  He  angrily  refused  to  send  for 
medical  aid  at  Turreys,  and  insisted  o)i  continuing  his  journey 
homewards.  He  was  one  of  the  old  school,  who  never  would  enter 
a  railway  (though  his  fortune  was  greatly  increased  by  the  passage 
of  the  railway  through  his  property)  ;  and  his  own  horses  always 
met  him  at  "  Popper's  Tavern,"  an  obscure  hamlet,  seventeen  miles 
from  his  princely  seat.  He  made  no  sign  on  arriving  at  "  Popper's," 
and  spoke  no  word,  to  the  now  serious  alarm  of  his  servants.  When 
they  came  to  liglit  his  carriage-lamps,  and  look  into  his  postchaise, 
the  lord  of  many  thousand  acres,  and,  according  to  report,  of 
immense  wealth,  was  dead.  The  journey  from  Turreys  had  been 
the  last  stage  of  a  long,  a  prosperous,  and,  if  not  a  famous,  at  least 
a  notorious  and  magnificent  career. 

"  The  late  John  George,  Earl  and  Baron  Ringwood  and  Viscount 
Cinqbars,  entered  into  j)ublic  life  at  the  dangerous  period  before  the 
French  Revolution ;  and  commenced  his  career  as  the  friend  and 
companion  of  the  Prince  of  Wales.  When  his  Royal  Highness 
seceded  from  the  Whig  party.  Lord  Ringwood  also  joined  the  Tory 
side  of  politicians,  and  an  earldom  was  the  price  of  his  fidelity. 
But  on  the  elevation  of  Lord  Steyne  to  a  marcjuisate.  Lord  Ring- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      365 

wood  quarrelled  for  a  while  witli  his  Royal  patron  and  friend,  deem- 
ing his  own  services  nnjustly  slighted,  as  a  like  dignity  was  not 
conferred  on  himself  (_)n  several  occasions  he  gave  his  vote  against 
Government,  and  caused  his  nominees  in  the  House  of  Commons 
to  vote  with  the  Whigs.  He  never  was  reconciled  to  his  late 
Majesty  George  IV.,  of  whom  he  was  in  the  habit  of  speaking  with 
characteristic  lihnitness.  The  approach  of  the  Reform  Bill,  how- 
ever, threw  this  nobleman  definitively  on  the  Tory  side,  of  which 
he  has  ever  since  remained,  if  not  an  eloquent,  at  least  a  violent 
supporter.  He  was  said  to  be  a  liberal  landlord,  so  long  as  his 
tenants  did  not  thwart  him  in  his  vieM's.  His  only  son  died  early  ; 
and  his  Lordship,  according  to  report,  has  long  been  on  ill  terms 
with  his  kinsman  and  successor.  Sir  John  Ringwood,  of  Apple- 
shaw,  Baronet.  The  Barony  has  been  in  this  ancient  family  since 
tlie  reign  of  George  I.,  when  Sir  John  Ringwood  was  ennobled, 
and  Sir  Francis,  his  brother,  a  Baron  of  the  Exchequer,  was 
advanced  to  the  dignity  of  Baronet  by  the  first  of  our  Hanoverian 
sovereigns." 

This  was  the  article  which  my  wife  and  I  read  on  the  morning 
of  Christmas  Eve,  as  our  children  were  decking  lamps  and  looking- 
glasses  with  holly  and  red  berries  for  the  approaching  festival.  I 
had  despatched  a  hurried  note,  containing  the  news,  to  Philip  on 
the  night  previous.  We  were  painfully  anxious  about  his  fate  now, 
when  a  few  days  would  decide  it.  Again  my  business  or  curiosity 
took  me  to  see  Mr.  Bradgate,  the  lawyer.  He  was  in  possession 
of  the  news  of  course.  He  was  not  averse  to  talk  aljout  it.  The 
death  of  his  client  unsealed  the  lawyer's  lips  partially  :  and  I  must 
say  Bradgate  sjtoke  in  a  manner  not  flattering  to  his  noble  deceased 
client.  The  brutalities  of  the  late  noldemaii  had  been  very  hard  to 
bear.  On  occasion  of  tlu^ir  last  meeting  his  oaths  and  disrespectful 
behaviour  had  been  specially  odious.  He  had  abused  almost  every 
one  of  his  relatives.  His  heir,  he  said,  was  a  prating  republican 
humbug.  He  had  a  relative  (whom  Bradgate  'said  he  would  not 
name)  who  was  a  scheming,  swaggering,  swindling,  lic^kspittle 
parasite,  always  cringing  at  his  heels  and  longing  for  his  death. 
And  he  had  another  relative,  the  impudent  son  of  a  swindling 
doctor,  who  had  insulted  him  two  hours  liefore  in  his  own  room, — 
a  fellow  who  was  a  pauper,  and  going  to  pro])agate  a  breed  for  the 
workhouse  ;  for,  after  his  behaviour  of  that  <lay,  he  would  be  con- 
demned to  the  lowest  pit  of  Acheron,  before  he,  Lord  Ringwood, 
would  give  that  scoimdrel  a  penny  of  his  money.  "  And  his  Lord- 
ship desired  me  to  ?.ou(\  him  back  his  will,"  said  Mr.  Bradgate. 
And  he  destroyed  that  will  before  he  went  away  :  it  was  not  the 


366  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

first  he  had  burned.  "And  I  may  tell  you,  now  all  is  over,  that 
he  had  left  his  brother's  grandson  a  handsome  legacy  in  that  will, 
which  your  poor  friend  might  have  had,  but  that  he  went  to  see  my 
Lord  in  his  unlucky  fit  of  gout."  Ah,  mea  culpa  !  mea  culpa  ! 
And  who  sent  Philip  to  see  his  relative  in  that  unlucky  fit  of  gout  1 
Who  was  so  worldly  wise — so  Twysden-like,  as  to  counsel  Philip  to 
flattery  and  submission  ?  But  for  that  advice  he  might  be  wealthy 
now ;  he  might  be  hap])y  ;  he  might  be  ready  to  marry  his  young 
sweetheart.  Our  Christmas  turkey  choked  me  as  I  ate  of  it.  The 
lights  burned  dimly,  and  the  kisses  and  laughter  under  the  mistletoe 
were  but  melancholy  sport.  But  for  my  advice,  how  happy  might 
my  friend  have  been  !  I  looked  askance  at  the  honest  faces  of  my 
cliildren.  AVhat  would  they  say  if  they  knew  their  father  had 
advised  a  friend  to  cringe,  and  bow,  and  humble  himself  before  a 
rich  wicked  old  man  1  I  sat  as  mute  at  the  pantomime  as  at  a 
burial ;  the  laughter  of  the  little  ones  smote  me  as  with  a  reproof. 
A  burial  1  With  plumes  and  lights,  and  upholsterers'  pageantry, 
and  mourning  by  the  yard  measure,  they  were  burying  my  Lord 
Kingvi'oo.],  wlio  might  have  made  Philip  Firmin  rich  but  for  me. 

All  lingering  hopes  regarding  our  friend  were  quickly  put  to  an 
end.  A  will  was  found  at  Whipham,  dated  a  year  back,  in  which 
no  mention  was  made  of  poor  Philip  Firmin.  Small  legacies — 
disgracefully  shabby  and  small,  Twysden  said — were  left  to  the 
Twysden  family,  witli  the  full-length  ])ortrait  of  the  late  Earl  in  his 
coronation  rolies,  which,  I  should  think,  nuist  have  given  but  small 
satisfaction  to  his  surviving  relatives ;  for  his  Lordship  was  but  an 
ill-favoured  nobleman,  and  the  price  of  the  carriage  of  the  large 
picture  from  AVhipham  was  a  tax  which  poor  Talbot  made  very 
wry  faces  at  paying.  Had  the  picture  been  accompanied  by  thirty 
or  forty  thousand  pounds,  or  fifty  thousand — why  should  he  not 
have  left  them  fifty  thousand  ? — how  different  Talbot's  grief  would 
have  been  !  Whereas  when  Talbot  counted  up  the  dinners  he  had 
given  to  Lord  Ringwood,  all  of  which  he  could  easily  calculate  by 
his  cunning  ledgers  and  journals  in  which  was  noted  down  every 
feast  at  which  his  Lordship  atten<led,  every  guest  assembled,  and 
every  bottle  of  wine  drunk,  Twysden  found  that  he  had  absolutely 
spent  more  money  upon  my  Lord  than  the  old  man  had  paid  back 
in  his  will.  But  all  the  family  went  into  mourning,  and  the 
Twysden  coachman  and  footman  turned  out  in  black  worsted 
epaulettes  in  honour  of  the  illustrious  deceased.  It  is  not  every 
day  that  a  man  gets  a  chance  of  publicly  bewailing  the  loss  of  an 
earl  his  relative.  I  suppose  Twysden  took  many  hundred  people 
into  his  confidence  on  this  matter,  and  bewailed  his  uncle's  death 
and  his  own  wrong."  whilst  clinging  to  many  scores  of  button-holes. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     367 

And  limv  (lid  })0()r  Philip' bear  the  disappointment'!  He  must 
have  felt  it,  for  I  fear  we  ourselves  had  encouraged  him  in  the  hope 
that  his  grand-uncle  would  do  somctliing  to  relieve  his  necessity. 
Philip  put  a  bit  of  crape  round  his  hat.  wrapped  himself  in  his 
shabby  old  mantle,  and  declined  any  outward  show  of  grief  at  all. 
If  the  old  man  had  left  him  money,  it  had  been  well.  As  he  did 
not, — a  puff  of  cigar,  perhaps,  ends  the  sentence,  and  our  philo- 
sopher gives  no  further  thought  to  his  disappf)intment.  Was  not 
Philip  the  poor  as  lordly  and  independent  as  Philip  the  rich  1  A 
struggle  with  poverty  is  a  wholesome  wrestling-match  at  three  or 
five-and-twenty.  The  sinews  are  young,  and  are  braced  by  the 
contest.  It  is  upon  the  aged  that  the  battle  falls  hardly,  who  are 
weakened  l)y  failing  hcaHh,  and  i)erhaps  enervated  by  long  years 
of  prosperity. 

Firmin's  broad  back  could  carry  a  heavy  burden,  and  he  was 
glad  to  take  all  the  work  which  fell  in  his  way.  Phipps  of  the  Daif// 
Intelligencer,  wanting  an  assistant,  Philij)  gladly  sold  four  hnui-s  of 
his  day  to  Mr.  Phii)ps  :  translated  page  after  ])age  of  news])apers, 
French  and  German ;  took  an  occasional  turn  at  the  Chamber  of 
]  )('puties,  and  gave  an  account  of  a  sitting  of  importance,  and 
made  himself  quite  an  active  lieutenant.  He  began  positively  to 
save  money.  He  wore  dreadfully  shabby  clothes,  to  be  sure :  for 
Charlotte  could  not  go  to  his  chandler  and  mend  his  rags  as  the 
Little  Sister  had  done  :  but  when  Mrs.  Baynes  abused  him  for  his 
shabby  appearance — and  indeed  it  must  have  been  mortifying  some- 
times to  see  the  fellow  in  his  old  clotlics  swaggering  about  in 
IVIadame  Smolensk's  apartments,  talking  loud,  contradicting,  and 
laying  down  the  law — Charlotte  defended  her  maligned  Philip. 
"Do  you  know  why  Monsieur  Philip  has  those  shabby  clothes  1  " 
she  asked  of  Madame  de  Smolensk.  "  Because  he  has  been  send- 
ing money  to  his  father  in  America.''  And  Smolensk  .said  that 
Monsieur  Philip  was  a  brave  young  man,  and  that  he  might  come 
dressed  like  an  Iroquois  to  her  soir(>e,  and  he  should  b(!  welcome. 
And  Mrs.  Baynes  was  rude  to  Philip  when  he  Avas  ])resent,  and 
scornful  in  her  remarks  when  he  was  absent.  And  Philip  trend)led 
])efore  Mrs.  Baynes  :  and  he  took  her  boxes  on  the  ear  with  much 
meekness  ;  for  was  not  his  Charlotte  a  hostage  in  her  mother's 
hands,  and  might  not  Mrs.  General  B.  make  that  poor  little  creature 
suffer  ? 

One  or  two  Indian  ladies  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  ac<|uaintance 
liappcned  to  pass  this  winter  in  Paris,  and  these  persons,  who  had 
furnished  lodgings  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honor<^,  or  the  Champs 
Elysees,  and  rode  in  their  carriages  with,  very  likely,  a  footman 
on  the  box,  rather  looked  down  upon  JNIrs.  Baynes  for  living  in  a 


368  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

boarding-house,  and  keeping  no  equipage.  No  woman  likes  to  be 
looked  down  upon  by  any  other  woman,  especially  by  such  a 
creature  as  Mrs.  Batters,  the  lawyer's  wife,  from  Calcutta,  who  was 
not  in  society,  and  did  not  go  to  Government  House,  and  here  was 
driving  about  in  the  Champs  Elyse'es,  and  giving  herself  such  airs, 
indeed  !  So  was  Mrs.  Doctor  Macoon,  with  her  lady^ s-maid,  and 
her  man-cook,  and  her  oj)en  carriage,  and  her  close  carriage. 
(Pray  read  these  words  with  the  most  withering  emphasis  which 
you  can  lay  upon  them.)  And  who  was  Mrs.  Macoon,  pray? 
Madame  B^ret,  the  French  milliner's  daughter,  neither  more  nor 
less.  And  this  creature  must  scatter  her  mud  over  her  betters  who 
went  on  foot.  "  I  am  telling  my  poor  girls,  madame,"  she  would 
say  to  Madame  Smolensk,  "  that  if  I  had  been  a  milliner's  girl,  or 
their  father  had  been  a  pettifogging  attorney,  and  not  a  soldier,  who 
has  served  his  Sovereign  in  every  quarter  of  the  world,  they  would 
be  better  dressed  than  they  are  now,  poor  chicks  ! — we  might  have 
a  fine  apartment  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honor^ — we  need  not  live  at 
a  boarding-house." 

"  And  if  /  had  been  a  milliner,  Madame  la  Gdndrale,"  cried 
Smolensk,  with  spirit,  "  perhaps  I  should  not  have  had  need  to 
keep  a  boarding-house.  My  father  was  a  general  officer,  and  served 
his  Emperor  too.  But  what  will  you  1  We  have  all  to  do  disagree- 
able things,  and  to  live  with  disagreeable  people,  madame  ! "  And 
witli  this  Smolensk  makes  Mrs.  General  Baynes  a  fine  curtsey, 
and  goes  off  to  other  affairs  or  guests.  She  was  of  the  opinion 
of  many  of  Philip's  friends.  "  Ah,  Monsieur  Philip,"  she  said  to 
him,  "when  you  are  married,  you  will  live  far  from  that  woman  ; 
is  it  not  1 " 

Hearing  that  Mrs.  Batters  was  going  to  the  Tuileries,  I  am 
sorry  to  say  a  violent  emulation  inspired  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  she 
never  was  easy  until  she  persuaded  her  General  to  take  her  to  the 
ambassador's,  and  to  the  entertainments  of  the  Citizen  King  who 
governed  France  in  those  days.  It  would  cost  little  or  nothing. 
Charlotte  must  be  brought  out.  Her  aunt,  MacWhirter,  from 
Tours,  had  sent  Charlotte  a  present  of  money  for  a  dress.  .To  do 
Mrs.  Baynes  justice,  she  spent  very  little  money  upon  her  own 
raiment,  and  extracted  from  one  of  her  trunks  a  costume  which  had 
done  duty  at  Barrackpore  and  Calcutta.  "  After  hearing  that  Mrs. 
Batters  went,  I  knew  she  never  would  be  easy,"  General  Baynes 
said,  with  a  sigh.  His  wife  denied  the  accusation  as  an  outrage ; 
said  that  men  always  imputed  the  worst  motives  to  women,  whereas 
her  wish,  Heaven  knows,  was  only  to  see  her  darling  child  properly 
presented,  and  her  husband  in  his  proper  rank  in  the  world.  And 
Charlotte  looked  lovely,  upon  the  evening  of  the  ball  :  and  Madame 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     369 

Smolensk  dressed  Charlotte's  hair  very  prettily,  and  offered  to  lend 
Auguste  to  accompany  the  General's  carriage  ;  but  Ogoost  revolted, 
and  said,  "  Non  merci  !  he  would  do  anything  for  the  General  and 
Miss  Charlotte — but  for  the  Ge'ni^rale,  no,  no,  no ! "  and  he  made 
signs  of  violent  abnegation.  And  though  Charlotte  looked  as  sweet 
as  a  rosebud,  she  had  little  pleasure  in  her  ball,  Philip  not  being 
present.  And  how  could  he  be  present,  wiio  had  but  one  old  coat, 
and  holes  in  his  boots  ? 

So  you  see,  after  a  sunny  autumn,  a  cold  winter  comes,  when 
the  wind  is  bad  for  delicate  chests,  and  muddy  for  little  shoes. 
How  could  Charlotte  come  out  at  eight  o'clock  through  mud  or 
snow  of  a  winter's  morning,  if  she  had  been  out  at  an  evening  party 
late  overnight  1  Mrs.  General  Baynes  began  to  go  out  a  good  deal 
to  the  Paris  evening  parties — I  mean  to  the  parties  of  us  Trojans — 
parties  wliere  there  are  forty  English  people,  three  Frenchmen,  and 
a  German  who  plays  tlie  piano.  Charlotte  was  very  much  admired. 
The  fame  of  her  good  looks  spread  abroad.  I  promise  you  that 
there  were  persons  of  much  more  importance  than  the  poor  Vicomte 
de  Gar^onboutiqiie^  who  were  charmed  by  her  bright  eyes,  her 
bright  smiles,  her  artless  rosy  beauty.  Why,  little  Hely,  of  the 
Embassy,  actually  invited  himself  to  Mrs.  Doctor  Macoon's,  in 
order  to  see  this  young  beauty,  and  danced  with  her  without 
ceasing :  Mr.  Hely,  who  was  the  pink  of  fashion,  you  know  ;  who 
danced  with  the  Royal  princesses ;  and  was  at  all  the  grand  parties 
of  the  Faubom-g  St.  Germain.  He  saw  her  to  her  carriage  (a 
very  shabby  fly,  it  must  be  confessed ;  but  Mrs.  Baynes  told  him 
they  had  been  accustomed  to  a  very  different  kind  of  equipage  in 
India).  He  actually  called  at  the  boarding-house,  and  left  his 
card,  M.  Walsingham  Hely,  attache  a  V Ambaasade  de  S.  J\f. 
Britannique,  for  General  Baynes  and  his  lady.  To  what  balls 
would  Mrs.  Baynes  like  to  go — to  the  Tuileries?  to  the  Embassy  ? 
to  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain?  to  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore  ?  I 
could  name  many  more  persons  of  distinction  who  were  fascinated 
by  pretty  Miss  Charlotte.  Her  mother  felt  more  and  more  ashamed 
of  the  shabby  fly,  in  which  our  young  lady  was  conveyed  to  and 
from  her  parties  ; — of  the  shabby  fly,  and  of  that  shabby  cavalier 
who  was  in  waiting  sometimes  to  put  Miss  Charlotte  into  her 
carriage.  Charlotte's  mother's  ears  were  only  too  acute  when 
disparaging  remarks  were  made  about  that  cavalier.  What? 
engaged  to  that  queer  red-bearded  fellow,  with  the  ragged  shirt- 
collars,  who  trod  upon  everybody  in  the  polka?  A  newspaper 
writer,  was  he?  The  son  of  that  doctor  who  ran  away  after 
cheating  everybody  ?  Wliat  a  very  odd  thing  of  General  Baynes 
to  think  of  engaging  his  daughter  to  such  a  person  ! 


370  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

So  Mr.  Firrain  was  not  asked  to  many  distinguished  houses,  wliere 
his  Charlotte  was  made  welcome  ;  wliere  there  was  dancing  in  the 
saloon,  very  mild  negus  and  cakes  in  the  salle-a-manfier,  and  cards 
in  the  lady's  bedroom.  And  he  did  not  care  to  be  asked  ;  and  he 
made  himself  very  arrogant  and  disagreeable  when  he  was  asked  ; 
and  he  would  upset  tea-trays,  and  burst  out  into  roars  of  laughter  at 
all  times,  and  swagger  about  the  drawing-room  as  if  he  were  a  man 
of  importance — he  indeed — giving  himself  such  airs,  because  his 
grandfather's  brother  was  an  Earl !  And  what  had  the  Earl  done  for 
him,  pray  1  And  what  right  had  he  to  burst  out  laughing  Avhen  Miss 
Crackley  sang  a  little  out  of  tune  ?  Wliat  could  General  Baynes 
mean  by  selecting  such  a  husband  for  that  nice  modest  young  girl  1 

The  old  General  sitting  in  the  best  bedroom,  jjlacidly  playing 
at  whist  with  the  other  British  fogeys,  does  not  hear  these  remarks, 
perhaps,  but  little  Mrs.  Baynes  with  her  eager  eyes  and  ears  sees 
and  knows  everything.  Many  people  have  told  her  that  Philip  is 
a  bad  match  for  her  daughter.  She  has  heard  him  contradict 
calmly  quite  wealthy  people.  Mr.  Hobday,  who  has  a  house  in 
Carlton  Terrace,  London,  and  goes  to  the  first  houses  in  Paris, 
Philip  has  contradicted  him  point  blank,  until  Mr.  Hobday  turned 
quite  red,  and  Mrs.  Holiday  didn't  know  where  to  look.  Mr. 
Peplow,  a  clergyman  and  a  baronet's  eldest  son,  who  will  be  one 
day  the  Rev.  Sir  Charles  Peplow  of  Peplow  Manor,  was  praising 
Tomlinson's  poems,  and  offered  to  read  them  out  at  Mr.  Badger's 
— he  reads  very  finely,  though  a  little  perhaps  through  his  nose — 
and  when  he  was  going  to  begin,  Mr.  Firmin  said,  "  My  dear 
Peplow,  for  Heaven's  sake  don't  give  us  any  of  that  rot.  I  would 
as  soon  hear  one  of  your  own  prize  poems."  Rot,  indeed  !  What 
an  expression  !  Of  course  Mr.  Peplow  was  very  much  annoyed. 
And  this  from  a  mere  newspaper  writer.  Never  heard  of  such 
rudeness  !  Mrs.  Tufiin  said  she  took  her  line  at  once  after  seeing 
this  Mr.  Firmin.  "  He  may  be  an  earl's  grand-nephew,  for  what 
I  care.  He  may  have  been  at  college,  he  has  not  learned  good 
manners  there.  He  may  be  clever,  I  don't  profess  to  bo  a  judge. 
But  he  is  most  overbearing,  clumsy,  and  disagreeable.  I  shall 
not  ask  him  to  my  Tuesdays  ;  and  Emma,  if  he  asks  you  to  dance, 
I  beg  you  will  do  no  such  thing  !  "  A  bull,  you  understand,  in  a 
meadow,  or  on  a  prairie  with  a  herd  of  other  buffaloes,  is  a  noble 
animal;  but  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  is  out  of  place;  and  even  so 
was  Philip  amongst  the  crockery  of  those  little  simple  tea-parties, 
where  his  mane,  and  hoofs,  and  roar  caused  endless  disturbance. 

These  remarks  concerning  the  accepted  son-in-law  Mrs.  Baynes 
heard  and,  at  proper  moments,  repeated.  She  ruled  Baynes ;  but 
was  very  cautious,  and  secretly  afraid  of  him.     Once  or  twice  she 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     371 

had  gone  too  far  in  lier  dealings  with  the  quiet  old  man,  and  he  had 
revolted,  put  lier  down,  and  never  forgiven  her.  Beyond  a  certain 
point  she  dared  not  provoke  her  husband.  She  would  say,  "  Well, 
Bayncs,  marriage  is  a  lottery :  and  I  am  afraid  our  poor  Charlotte 
has  not  pulled  a  prize  : "  on  which  the  General  would  reply,  "  No 
more  have  others,  my  dear  ! "  and  so  drop  the  subject  for  the  time 
being.  On  another  occasion  it  would  be,  "  You  heard  how  rude 
Philip  Firmin  was  to  Mr.  Hobday  1 "  and  the  General  would  answer, 
"  I  was  at  cards,  my  dear."  Again  she  might  say,  "  Mrs.  Tuffin 
says  she  will  not  have  Philip  Firmin  to  her  Tuesdays,  my  dear : " 
and  the  General's  rejoinder  would  be,  "  Begad,  so  much  the  better 
for  him  !  "  "  Ah  ! '"'  slie  groans,  "  he's  always  offending  some  one  !  " 
"  I  don't  tliink  he  seems  to  please  yoii,  much,  Eliza  ! "  responds  the 
General :  and  she  answers,  "  No,  he  don't,  and  that  I  confess ;  and 
I  don't  like  to  think,  Bayncs,  of  my  sweet  child  given  up  to  certain 
poverty,  and  such  a  man  ! "  At  which  the  Genei'al  with  some  of 
his  garrison  phrases  would  break  out  with  a  "  Hang  it,  Eliza,  do 
you  suppose  I  think  it  is  a  very  good  match  1 "  and  turn  to  the 
wall,  and,  I  hope,  to  sleep. 

As  for  poor  little  Charlotte,  her  mother  is  not  afraid  of  little 
Charlotte  :  and  when  the  two  are  alone  the  poor  child  knows  she 
is  to  be  made  wretched  by  her  mother's  assaults  upon  Philip.  Was 
there  ever  anything  so  bad  as  his  behaviour,  to  burst  out  laughing 
when  Miss  Crackley  was  singing  ?  Was  he  called  upon  to  contradict 
Mr.  Cliarles  Peplow  in  that  abrupt  way,  and  as  good  as  tell  him 
he  was  a  fool  ?  It  was  very  wrong  certainly,  and  poor  Charlotte 
thinks,  with  a  blush  perhaps,  how  she  was  just  at  the  point  of 
admiring  Sir  Charles  Peplow's  reading  very  much,  and  had  been 
I)repared  to  think  Tomlinsoji's  i)oems  delightful,  until  Philip  ordered 
her  to  adopt  a  contemptuous  opinion  of  the  poet.  ''  And  did  ynu 
see  how  he  was  dressed — a  button  wanting  on  his  waistcoat,  and  a 
hole  in  his  boot  ?  " 

"  Mamma,"  cries  Charlotte,  turning  very  red,  "  he  might  have 
been  better  dressed — if — if " 

"  That  is,  you  would  like  your  own  father  to  be  in  prison,  your 
mother  to  beg  her  bread,  your  sisters  to  go  in  rags,  and  your  brothers 
to  starve,  Charlotte,  in  order  that  we  should  jjay  Philip  Firmin  back 
the  money  of  which  his  father  ro])bed  him  !  Yes.  That's  your 
meaning.  You  needn't  explain  yourself  I  can  understand  (piite 
well,  tliank  you.  Good-night.  I  hope  yovUl  sleep  well  ;  /  shan't 
after  this  conversation.  Good-night,  Charlotte ! "  Ah  me !  O 
course  of  true  love,  didst  thou  ever  run  smooth  ?  As  we  peep  into 
that  boardiiig-liouse — whereof  I  have  already  described  the  mistress 
as  wakeful  with  racking  care  regarding  the  morrow  ;  wherein  lie 


372  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  Miss  Bolderos,  who  must  naturally  be  very  uncomfortable,  being 
on  sufferance  and  as  it  were  in  pain,  as  they  lie  on  their  beds  ; — 
what  sorrows  do  we  not  perceive  brooding  over  the  nightcaps'? 
There  is  poor  Charlotte  who  has  said  her  prayer  for  her  Philip  ;  and 
as  she  lays  her  young  eyes  on  the  pillow,  they  wet  it  with  their 
tears.  Why  does  her  mother  for  ever  and  for  ever  speak  against 
him  1  Why  is  her  father  so  cold  when  Philip's  name  is  mentioned  1 
Could  Charlotte  ever  think  of  any  but  him  1  Oh,  never,  never ! 
And  so  the  wet  eyes  are  veiled  at  last ;  and  close  in  doubt  and  fear 
and  care.  And  in  the  next  room  to  Charlotte's,  a  little  yellow  old 
woman  lies  stark  awake  ;  and  in  tlie  bed  by  her  side  an  old  gentle- 
man can't  close  his  eyes  for  thinking — my  poor  girl  is  promised  to 
a  beggar.  All  the  fine  hopes  which  wc  had  of  his  getting  a  legacy 
from  that  lord  are  over.  Poor  child,  poor  child,  what  will  become 
of  her? 

Now,  Two  Sticks,  let  us  fly  over  the  river  Seine  to  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin's  quarters :  to  Philip's  house,  who  has  not  got  a  penny ;  to 
Philip's  bed,  who  has  made  himself  so  rude  and  disagreeable  at  that 
tea-party.  He  has  no  idea  that  he  has  offended  anybody.  He  has 
gone  home  perfectly  well  pleased.  He  has  kicked  off  the  tattered 
boot.  He  has  found  a  little  fire  lingering  in  his  stove  by  which  he 
has  smoked  the  pipe  of  thouglit.  Ere  lie  has  jumped  into  his  bed 
he  has  knelt  a  moment  beside  it  ;  and  with  all  his  heart — oh  !  with 
all  his  heart  and  soul — has  committed  the  dearest  one  to  Heaven's 
loving  protection  !     And  now  he  sleeps  like  a  child. 


CHAPTER   XXIII 
IN  WHICH  WE  STILL  HOVER   ABOUT   THE  ELY  SUN  FIELDS 

THE  describer  and  biographer  of  my  friend  Mr.  Philip  Firmin 
has  tried  to  extenuate  nothing ;  and,  I  hope,  has  set  down 
naught  in  malice.  If  Philip's  boots  had  holes  in  them,  I 
have  written  that  he  had  holes  in  his  boots.  If  he  had  a  red  beard, 
there  it  is  red  in  this  story.  I  might  have  oiled  it  with  a  tinge  of 
brown,  and  painted  it  a  rich  auburn.  Towards  modest  jjeople  he 
was  very  gentle  and  tender ;  but  I  must  own  that  in  general  society 
he  was  not  always  an  agreeable  companion.  He  was  often  haughty 
and  arrogant :  he  was  impatient  of  old  stories :  he  was  intolerant 
of  commonplaces.  Mrs.  Baynes's  anecdotes  of  her  garrison  experi- 
ences in  India  and  Europe  got  a  very  impatient  hearing  from  Mr. 
Philip ;  and  though  little  Charlotte  gently  remonstrated  with  him, 
saying,  "  Do,  do  let  mamma  tell  her  story  out ;  and  don't  turn 
away  and  talk  about  something  else  in  the  midst  of  it ;  and  don't 
tell  her  you  have  heard  the  story  before,  you  rude  man  !  If  she  is 
not  pleased  with  you,  she  is  angry  with  me,  and  I  have  to  suffer 
when  you  are  gone  away."  Miss  Charlotte  did  not  say  how  much 
she  had  to  suft'er  when  Philip  was  absent ;  how  constantly  her 
mother  found  fault  with  him ;  what  a  sad  life,  in  consequence  of 
her  attachment  to  him,  the  young  maiden  had  to  lead ;  and  I  fear 
that  clumsy  Pliilip,  in  his  selfish  thoughtlessness,  did  not  take 
enough  count  of  the  sutlerings  which  his  behaviour  brought  on  the 
girl.  You  see  I  am  acknowledging  that  there  were  many  faults  on 
his  side,  which,  perhaps,  may  in  some  degree  excuse  or  account  for 
those  which  Mrs.  General  Baynes  certainly  committed  towards  him. 
She  did  not  love  Philij)  naturally  ;  and  ilo  you  suppose  she  loved 
him  because  she  was  under  great  obligations  to  him?  Do  you  love 
your  creditor  because  you  ow(;  him  more  than  you  can  ever  pay? 
If  I  never  paid  my  tailor,  should  I  be  im  g(jod  terms  with  him '! 
I  might  go  on  ordering  suits  of  clothes  from  now  to  the  year 
nineteen  hundred  ;  but  I  should  hate  him  worse  year  after  year. 
I  should  find  fault  with  his  cut  and  his  cloth  :  I  daresay  I  should 
end  by  thinking  his  bills  extortionate,  though  I  never  i)aid  them. 
Kindness    is    very    indigestible.       It    disagrees    witii    very    proud 


374  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

stomachs.  I  wonder  was  that  traveller  who  fell  among  the  thieves 
grateful  afterwards  to  the  Samaritan  who  rescued  liim  1  He  gave 
money  certainly ;  but  he  didn't  miss  it.  The  religious  opinions  of 
Samaritans  are  lamentably  heterodox.  O  brother  !  may  we  help 
the  fallen  still  though  they  never  pay  us,  and  may  we  lend  without 
exacting  the  usury  of  gratitude  ! 

Of  this  I  am  determined,  that  whenever  I  go  courting  again, 
I  will  not  pay  my  addresses  to  my  dear  creature — day  after  day, 
and  from  year's  end  to  year's  end,  very  likely,  with  the  dear  girl's 
mother,  father,  and  half-a-dozen  young  brothers  and  sisters  in  the 
room.  I  sliall  begin  by  being  civil  to  the  old  lady,  of  course.  She 
is  flattered  at  first  by  having  a  young  fellow  coming  courting  to  lier 
daughter.  She  calls  me  "dear  Edward";  works  me  a  pair  of 
braces  ;  writes  to  mamma  and  sisters,  and  so  forth.  Old  gentleman 
says,  "  Brown  my  boy  "  (I  am  here  fondly  imagining  myself  to  be 
a  young  fellow  named  Edward  Brown,  attached,  let  us  say,  to  Miss 
Kate  Thompson) — Tliompson,  I  say,  says,  "  Brown  my  boy,  come 
to  dinner  at  seven.  Cover  laid  for  you  always."  And  of  course, 
delicious  thought !  that  cover  is  by  dearest  Kate's  side.  But  the 
dinner  is  bad  sometimes.  Sometimes  I  come  late.  Sometimes 
tilings  are  going  badly  in  tlie  City.  Sometimes  Mrs.  Thompson  is 
out  of  humour  ; — ^she  always  thought  Kate  might  have  done  better. 
And  in  the  midst  of  these  doubts  and  dehiys,  suppose  Jones 
appears,  who  is  older,  but  of  a  better  temper,  a  better  family,  and 
— plague  on  him  ! — twice  as  rich  1  Wliat  are  engagements  1  What 
are  promises  1  It  is  sometimes  an  art'ectionate  mother's  duty  to 
break  her  promise,  and  that  duty  the  resolute  matron  will  do. 

Then  Edward  is  Edward  no  more,  but  Mr.  Brown ;  or,  worse 
still,  nameless  in  the  house.  Then  the  knife  and  fork  are  removed 
from  poor  Kate's  side,  and  she  swallows  her  own  sad  meal  in  tears. 
Then  if  one  of  the  little  Thompsons  says  artlessly,  "  Papa,  I  met 

Teddy  Brown  in  Regent  Street  ;  he  looked  so ■"     "  Hold  your 

tongue,  unfeeling  wretch  ! "  cries  mamma.  "  Look  at  tliat  dear 
child  !  "  Kate  is  swooning.  She  has  sal  volatile.  The  medical 
man  is  sent  for.  And  presently — Charles  Jones  is  taking  Kate 
Tliompson  to  dinner.  Long  voyages  are  dangerous  ;  so  are  long 
courtships.  In  long  voyages  passengers  peri)etually  quarrel  (for 
tliat  Mrs.  General  could  vouch) ;  in  long  courtships  the  same 
danger  exists  :  and  how  much  the  more  when  in  that  latter  ship 
you  have  a  mother  who  is  for  ever  putting  in  her  oar  !  And  then 
to  think  of  the  annoyance  of  that  love  voyage  when  you  and 
the  beloved  and  beloved's  papa,  mamma,  half-a-dozen  brothers  and 
sisters,  are  all  in  one  cabin  !  For  economy's  sake  the  Bayneses  had 
no  sitting-room  at  Madame's — for  you  could  not  call  that  room  on 


ON  HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      375 

tlie  second-floor  a  sitting-room  which  had  two  beds  in  it,  and  in 
wliich  the  young  ones  practised  tiie  piano,  witli  poor  Charlotte  as 
their  mistress.  Philip's  courting  had  to  take  place  for  the  most 
jtart  before  the  whole  family  ;  and  to  make  love  under  su(;h  diffi- 
culties would  have  been  horrible  and  maddening  and  imj)Ossible 
almost,  only  we  have  adnntted  that  our  young  friends  had  little 
walks  in  the  Champs  Elysees  ;  and  then  j^ou  must  own  that  it 
must  have  been  delightful  for  them  to  write  each  other  perpetual 
little  notes,  which  were  delivered  occultly  under  the  very  nose  of 
])apa  and  mamma,  and  in  the  actual  presence  of  the  other  boarders 
at  Madame's,  who,  of  course,  never  saw  anything  that  was  going 
on.  Yes,  those  sly  monkeys  actually  made  little  post-offices  about 
the  room.  There  was,  for  instance,  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece 
in  the  salon  on  which  was  carved  the  old  French  allegory,  "  Le 
tem]is  fait  passer  I'amour."  One  of  those  artful  young  people 
would  pop  a  note  into  Time's  boat,  where  you  may  be  sure  no  one 
saw  it.  Tlie  trictrac  lioard  was  another  post-office.  So  was  the 
ilrawer  of  the  music-stand.  So  was  the  Sevres  china  flower-pot, 
&c.  &c.  ;  to  each  of  which  repositories  in  its  turn  the  lovers  con- 
fided the  delicious  secrets  of  tlieir  wooing 

Have  you  ever  lo(jked  at  your  love-letters  to  Darby,  when  you 
were  courting,  dear  Joan  ]  They  are  sacred  pages  to  read.  You 
have  his  tied  up  somewhere  in  a  faded  ribbon.  You  scarce  need 
spectacles  as  you  look  at  them.  The  hair  grows  black  ;  the  eyes 
moisten  and  brighten ;  the  cheeks  fill  and  blush  again.  I  protest 
there  is  nuthing  so  beautiful  as  Darby  and  Joan  in  the  world.  I 
hope  Philij)  and  his  wife  will  be  Darby  and  Joan  to  the  end.  I 
tell  you  they  are  married  ;  and  don't  want  to  make  any  mysteries 
about  the  Inisinoss.  I  disdain  that  sort  of  artifice.  In  the  days 
of  the  old  three-volume  novels,  didn't  you  always  look  at  the  end, 
to  see  that  Louisa  and  the  Earl  (or  young  clergyman,  as  the  case 
might  be)  were  ha])py1  If  they  died,  or  met  with  other  grief, 
ibr  my  jiart  I  put  the  book  away.  This  pair,  then,  ai-e  well  ;  are 
married  ;  are,  I  trust,  happy :  but  before  they  married,  and  after- 
wards, they  had  great  griefs  and  troubles ;  as  no  doubt  you  have 
had,  dear  sir  or  madam,  since  you  luiderwent  that  ceremony. 
Married  ?  Of  course  they  are.  Do  you  suppose  I  would  have 
allowed  little  Charlotte  to  meet  Philip  in  the  Champs  Elysees  with 
only  a  giddy  little  boy  of  a  brother  for  a  cdmpanion,  who  Avould 
t)irn  away  to  see  Punch,  Guignol,  the  soldiers  marching  by,  the 
old  woman's  gingerbread  and  tnff'y  stall,  and  so  forth'?  Do  you, 
1  say,  sujipose  I  would  have  allowed  those  two  to  go  out  together, 
unless  they  were  to  be  married  afterwards?  Out  walking  together 
they  did  go ;  and,  once,  as  they  were  aiui-in-arm  in  the  Champs 


376  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Elysdes,  whom  should  they  see  in  a  fine  open  carriage  but  young 
Twysden  and  Captain  and  Mrs.  Woolcomb,  to  whom,  as  they 
passed,  PhiUp  doffed  his  hat  with  a  profound  bow,  and  whom  he 
further  sakited  with  a  roar  of  immense  laughter.  Woolcomb  must 
have  heard  the  peal.  I  daresay  it  brought  a  little  blush  into 
Mrs.  Woolcomb's  cheek ;  and — and  so,  no  doubt,  added  to  the 
many  attractions  of  that  elegant  lady.  I  have  no  secrets  about 
my  characters,  and  speak  my  mind  about  them  quite  freely.  They 
said  that  Woolcomb  was  the  most  jealous,  stingy,  ostentatious, 
cruel  little  brute ;  that  he  led  his  wife  a  dismal  life.  Well  1  If 
he  (lid  ?  I'm  sure,  I  don't  care.  "  There  is  that  swaggering 
bankrupt  beggar  Firmin  ! "  cries  the  tawny  bridegroom,  biting  his 
moustache.  "  Impudent  ragged  blackguard,"  says  Twysden  minor, 
"  I  saw  him." 

"  Hadn't  you  better  stop  the  carriage,  and  abuse  him  to  himself, 
and  not  to  me  ? "  says  Mrs.  Woolcomb  languidly,  flinging  herself 
back  on  her  cushions. 

"  Go  on,  hang  you  !  Ally  !  Vite  !  "  cry  the  gentlemen  in  the 
carriage  to  the  laquais  de  place  on  the  box. 

"I  can  fancy  you  don't  care  about  .seeing  him,"  resumes  Mrs. 
Woolcomb.  "  He  has  a  violent  temper,  and  I  would  not  have  you 
quarrel  for  the  world."  So  I  suppose  Woolcomb  again  sweai's  at 
the  laquais  de  place :  and  the  happy  couple,  as  the  saying  is,  roll 
away  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne. 

"  What  makes  you  laugh  so  ? "  says  little  Charlotte  fondly, 
as  she  trips  along  by  her  lover's  side. 

"  Because  I  am  so  happy,  my  dearest ! "  says  the  other,  squeez 
ing  to  his  heart  the  little  hand  that  lies  on  his  arm.  As  he 
thinks  on  yonder  woman,  and  then  looks  into  the  pure  eager  face 
of  the  sweet  girl  beside  him,  the  scornful  laughter  occasioned  by 
the  sudden  meeting  which  is  just  over  hushes ;  and  an  immense 
feeling  of  thankfulness  fills  the  breast  of  the  young  riian  : — thankful- 
ness for  the  danger  from  which  he  has  escaped,  and  for  the  blessed 
prize  whicii  has  fallen  to  him. 

But  Mr.  Philip's  walks  were  not  to  be  all  as  pleasant  as  this 
walk ;  and  we  are  now  coming  to  a  history  of  wet  slippery  roads, 
bad  times,  and  winter  weather.  All  I  can  promise  about  this 
gloomy  part  is,  that  it  shall  not  be  a  long  story.  You  will 
acknowledge  we  made  very  short  work  with  the  love-making, 
which  I  give  you  my  word  I  consider  to  be  the  very  easiest  part 
of  the  novel-writer's  business.  As  those  rapturous  scenes  between 
the  Captain  and  the  heroine  are  going  on,  a  writer  who  knows  his 
business  may  be  thinking  about  anything  else — about  the  ensuing 
chapter,  or  about  what  he  is  going  to  have  for  dinner,  or  what  you 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     377 

will ;  therefore,  as  we  pass  over  the  raptures  and  joys  of  the 
courting  so  very  curtly,  you  must  please  to  gratify  me  by  taking 
the  grief  in  a  very  short  measure.  If  our  young  people  are  going 
to  suffer,  let  the  pain  be  soon  over.  "  Sit  down  in  that  chair.  Miss 
Baynes,  if  you  please,  and  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  in  this.  Allow  me  to 
examine  you ;  just  open  your  mouth,  if  you  please ;  and— oh,  oh, 
my  dear  miss — there  it  is  out !  A  little  eau-de-Cologne  and  water, 
my  dear.  And  now,  Mr.  Firmin,  if  you  please,  we  will — what 
fangs !  what  a  big  one !  Two  guineas.  Thank  you.  Good- 
morning.  Come  to  me  once  a  year.  John,  show  in  the  next 
party."  About  the  ensuing  painful  business,  then,  I  protest  I 
don't  intend  to  be  much  longer  occupied  than  the  humane  and 
dexterous  operator  to  whom  I  have  made  so  bold  as  to  liken  myself. 
If  my  pretty  Charlotte  is  to  have  a  tooth  out,  it  shall  be  removed 
as  gently  as  possible,  poor  dear !  As  for  Philip,  and  his  great  red- 
bearded  jaw,  I  don't  care  so  much  if  the  tug  makes  him  roar  a 
little.  And  yet  they  remain,  they  remain  and  tlirob  in  after  life, 
those  wounds  of  early  days.  Have  I  not  said  how,  as  I  chanced 
to  walk  with  Mr.  Firmin  in  Paris,  many  years  after  the  domestic 
circumstances  here  recorded,  he  paused  before  the  window  of  that 
house  near  the  Champs  Elys^es  where  Madame  Smolensk  once 
held  her  j^ension,  shook  his  fist  at  a  jalousie,  of  the  now  dingy  and 
dilapidated  mansion,  and  intimated  to  me  that  he  had  undergone 
severe  sufferings  in  the  chamber  lighted  by  yonder  window  ?  So 
have  we  all  suffered ;  so,  very  likely,  my  dear  young  miss  or 
master  who  peruses  this  modest  page,  will  you  have  to  suffer  in 
your  time.  You  will  not  die  of  the  operation,  most  probably  :  but 
it  is  painful :  it  makes  a  gap  in  the  mouth,  voj/ez-vous  ?  and  years 
and  years,  maybe,  after,  as  you  think  of  it,  the  smart  is  renewed, 
and  the  dismal  tragedy  enacts  itself  over  again. 

Philip  liked  his  little  maiden  to  go  out,  to  dance,  to  laugh,  to  be 
admired,  to  be  happy.  In  her  artless  way  she  told  him  of  her  balls, 
her  tea-parties,  her  pleasures,  her  partners.  In  a  girl's  first  little 
season  nothing  escapes  her.  Have  you  not  wondered  to  hear  them 
tell  about  the  events  of  the  evening,  about  the  dresses  of  the 
dowagers,  about  the  compliments  of  the  ymmg  men,  about  tlie 
behaviour  of  the  girls,  and  what  not? 

Little  Cliarlotte  used  to  enact  the  over-night's  comedy  for  I'liilip, 
])ouring  out  her  young  heart  in  lier  prattle  as  her  little  feet  skipped 
by  his  side.  And  to  hear  Philip  roar  with  laughter  !  It  would 
have  done  you  good.  You  might  have  heard  him  from  the  Obelisk 
to  the  Etoile.  People  turned  roimd  to  look  at  him,  and  shrugged 
their  shoulders  wonderingly,  as  good-natured  French  folks  will  do. 
How  could  a  man  who  had  been  lately  ruined,  a  man  who  had  just 


378  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

been  disappointed  of  u  great  legacy  from  the  Earl  bis  great-uncle, 
a  man  whose  boots  were  in  that  lamentable  condition,  laugh  so,  and 
have  such  high  spirits  ?  To  think  of  such  an  impudent  ragged 
blackguard,  as  Ringwood  Twysden  called  his  cousin,  daring  to  be 
happy  !  The  fact  is,  that  clap  of  laughter  smote  those  three 
Twysden  people  like  three  boxes  on  the  ear,  and  made  all  their 
cheeks  tingle  and  blush  at  once.  At  Philip's  merriment  clouds 
which  had  come  over  Charlotte's  sweet  face  would  be  chased  away. 
As  she  clung  to  him  doubts  which  throbbed  at  the  girl's  heart 
would  vanish.  When  she  was  acting  those  scenes  of  the  past 
niglit's  entertainment,  she  was  not  always  hajipy.  As  she  talked 
and  prattled,  her  own  spirits  would  rise  ;  and  liope  and  natural  joy 
would  spring  in  her  heart  again,  and  come  flushing  up  to  her  cheek. 
Charlotte  was  being  a  hypocrite,  as,  thank  Heaven,  all  good  women 
sometimes  are.  She  had  griefs  :  she  hid  them  from  him.  She  had 
doubts  and  fears  :  they  fled  when  he  came  in  view,  and  she  clung 
to  his  strong  arm,  and  looked  in  his  honest  blue  eyes.  She  did  not 
tell  hiju  of  those  jiainful  nights  when  her  eyes  were  wakeful  and 
tearful.  A  yellow  old  woman  in  a  white  jacket,  with  a  nightcap 
and  a  nightlight,  would  come,  night  after  night,  to  the  side  of  her 
little  bed ;  and  there  stand,  and  with  her  grim  voice  bark  against 
Philip.  Tiiat  old  woman's  lean  finger  would  i)oint  to  all  tlie  rents 
in  poor  Philip's  threadbare  paletot  of  a  character — point  to  the 
holes  and  tear  tliem  wider  open.  She  would  stamp  on  those  muddy 
boots.  She  would  throw  up  her  peaked  nose  at  the  idea  of  the 
poor  fellow's  i)ipe — his  pipe,  his  great  companion  and  comforter 
when  his  dear  little  mistress  was  away.  She  would  discourse  on 
the  partners  of  the  night ;  the  evident  attentions  of  this  gentleman, 
the  politeness  and  high  breeding  of  that. 

And  when  tliat  dreary  nightly  torture  was  over,  and  Charlotte's 
mother  had  left  the  poor  child  to  herself,  sometimes  Madame 
Smolensk,  sitting  up  over  her  ledgers  and  bills,  and  wakeful  with 
her  own  cares,  would  steal  up  and  console  poor  Charlotte ;  and 
bring  her  some  tisane,  excellent  for  the  nerves ;  and  talk  to  her 
about — about  tlie  subject  of  which  Cliarlotte  best  liked  to  hear. 
And  though  Smolensk  was  civil  to  Mrs.  Baynes  in  the  morning,  as 
her  professional  duty  obliged  her  to  be,  slie  has  owned  that  she 
often  felt  a  desire  to  strangle  Madame  la  Geni^rale  for  her  conduct 
to  her  little  angel  of  a  daughter  ;  and  all  because  Monsieur  Philippe 
smells  the  pipe,  parbleu  !  "Whatl  a  family  that  owes  you  the 
bread  which  they  eat ;  and  they  draw  back  for  a  pipe !  The 
cowards,  the  cowards  !  A  solijier's  daughter  is  not  afraid  of  it. 
Merci  !  Tenez,  M.  Philippe,"  she  said  to  our  friend  when  matters 
came  to  an  extremity.      "  Do  you  know  what  in  your  place  I  would 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      379 

do?  To  ,1  Frrnclniian  I  Wduld  not  say  so;  tli;it  undcr.staiids  itself. 
But  those  tliiii;,f.s  iiia,ke  themselves  otherwise  in  Eii,<,daiid.  I  have 
no  money,  but  I  have  a  cachemire.  Take  him  ;  and  if  I  were  you, 
I  would  make  a  little  voyage  to  Gretna  Grin." 

And  now,  if  you  please,  we  will  (piit  the  Champs  Elysdes.  We 
will  cross  the  road  from  Madame's  boarding-house.  We  will  make 
our  way  into  the  Faubourg  St.  Honord,  and  actually  enter  a  gate 
over  which  the  L-on,  the  Un-c-rn,  and  the  R-y-1  Cr-wn  and 
A-ms  of  the  Three  K-ugd-ms  are  sculptured,  and  going  under  the 
porte-cochere,  and  turning  to  the  right,  ascend  a  little  stair,  and 
ask  of  the  attendant  on  the  landing,  who  is  in  the  chancellerie  ? 
The  attendant  says,  that  several  of  those  messieurs  y  snnt.  In 
firct,  on  entering  the  room,  you  find  Mr.  Motcomb, — let  us  say — 
Mr.  Lowndes,  Mr.  Halkin,  and  our  young  friend  Mr.  AValsingliam 
Hely,  seated  at  their  respective  tables  in  the  midst  of  considerable 
smoke.  Smoking  in  the  midst  of  these  gentlemen,  and  bestriding 
his  chair,  as  though  it  w'ere  his  horse,  sits  that  gallant  young  Irish 
chieftain.  The  O'Roiu'ke.  Some  of  the  gentlemen  are  copying,  in  a 
large  handwriting,  desiiatches  on  foolscap  paper.  I  would  rather 
be  torn  to  pieces  by  O'Rourke's  Avildest  horses,  than  be  understood 
to  hint  at  what  those  despatches,  at  Avhat  those  despatch-boxes 
contain.  Perhaps  they  contain  some  news  from  the  Court  of  Si)ain, 
where  some  intrigues  are  carried  on,  a  knowledge  of  which  would 
make  your  liair  start  oft"  your  head  ;  perlia])s  that  box,  for  which  a 
messenger  is  waiting  in  a  neighl)ouring  apartment,  has  locked  uj» 
twenty-four  yards  of  Chantilly  lace  for  Lady  Belwether,  and  six 
new  French  farces  for  Tom  Tiddler  of  the  Foreign  Oftice,  who  is 
mad  about  the  theatre.  It  is  years  and  years  ago  :  how  should  I 
know  what  there  is  in  those  despatch-boxes'? 

But  the  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  is  not  very  pressing — for 
there  is  only  Mr.  Chesham — did  I  say  Chesham  before,  by  the 
way  1  You  may  call  him  Mr.  Sloanestreet  if  you  like.  There  is 
only  Chesham  (and  he  always  takes  things  to  the  grand  serious) 
wdio  seems  to  be  much  engaged  in  writing ;  and  the  conversation 
goes  on. 

"Who  gave  it?"  asks  Motcomb. 

"  Tiie  black  man,  of  course,  gave  it.  We  w^ould  not  pretend 
to  compete  with  such  a  long  ])urse  as  his.  You  should  have  seen 
what  faces  he  made  at  the  bill  !  Thirty  francs  a  bottle  for  Rhinr 
wine.  He  grinned  with  tiie  most  horri])le  agony  wiien  he  read  tiic 
addition.  He  almost  turned  yellow.  He  sent  away  his  wife  early. 
How  long  that  girl  was  hanging  about  London  :  and  think  of  her 
hooking  a  millionaire  at  last !  Othello  is  a  frightful  screw,  and 
diabolically  jealous  of  his  wife." 


380  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  little  man  who  got  so  dismally 
drunk,  and  began  to  cry  about  old  Ringwood  !  " 

"  Twysden — the  woman's  brother.  Don't  you  know  Humbug 
Twysden,  the  father?  The  youth  is  more  offensive  than  the 
parent." 

"  A  most  disgusting  little  beast.  Would  come  to  the  Varidtds, 
because  we  said  we  were  going  :  would  go  to  Lamoignon's,  where 
the  Russians  gave  a  dance  and  a  lansquenet.  Why  didn't  you 
come,  Helyl" 

Mr.  Hely.  I  tell  you  I  hate  the  whole  thing.  Those  painted 
old  actresses  give  me  the  horrors.  What  do  I  want  with  winning 
Motcomb's  money  who  hasn't  got  any  ?  Do  you  think  it  gives 
me  any  pleasure  to  dance  with  old  Caradol  %  She  puts  me  in  mind 
of  my  grandmother — only  she  is  older.  Do  you  think  I  want  to  go 
and  see  that  insane  old  Boutzoff  leering  at  Corinne  and  Palmyrine, 
and  making  a  group  of  three  old  women  together  %  I  wonder  how 
you  fellows  can  go  on.  Aren't  you  tired  of  truffles  and  e'crevisses 
\  la  Bordelaise  ;  and  those  old  opera  people,  whose  withered  old 
carcases  are  stuft'ed  with  them  ? 

The  O^R.  There  was  Cdrisette,  I  give  ye  me  honour.  Ye  never 
saw.     She  fell  asleep  in  her  cheer 

Mr.  Lowndes.   In  her  hii)hat,  O'R.  ? 

The  O'R.  Well,  in  her  chair  then  !  And  Figaroff  smayred 
her  feece  all  over  with  the  craym  out  of  a  Charlotte  Roose.  She's 
a  regular  bird  and  moustache,  you  know,  Cdrisette  has. 

Mr.  Hely.  Charlotte,  Charlotte  !  Oh  !  {He  clutches  his  hair 
madly.     His  elbows  are  on  the  table.) 

Mr.  Lowndes.  It's  that  girl  he  meets  at  the  tea-parties,  where 
he  goes  to  be  admired. 

Mr.  Hely.  It  is  better  to  drink  tea  than,  like  you  fellows,  to 
muddle  what  brains  you  have  with  bad  champagne.  It  is  better  to 
look,  and  to  hear,  and  to  see,  and  to  dance  with  a  modest  girl,  than, 
like  you  fellows,  to  be  capering  about  in  taverns  with  painted  old 
hags  like  that  old  Cdrisette,  who  has  got  a  face  like  a  ponmxe  cuite, 
and  who  danced  before  Lord  Malmesbury  at  the  Peace  of  Amiens. 
She  did,  I  tell  you ;  and  before  Napoleon. 

Mr.  Chesham  {looks  uj)  from  his  ivriting).  There  was  no 
Napoleon  then.     It  is  of  no  consequence,  but 

Loivndes.  Thank  you,  I  owe  you  one.  You're  a  most  valuable 
man,  Chesham,  and  a  credit  to  your  father  and  mother. 

Mr.  Chesham.  Well,  the  First  Consul  was  Bonaparte. 

Lovmdes.  I  am  obliged  to  you.  I  say  I  am  obliged  to  you, 
Chesham,  and  if  you  would  like  any  refreshment,  order  it  rtieis 
sumptibus,  old  boy — at  my  expense. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     381 

Chesham.  These  fellows  will  never  be  serious.  (He  7'esumes 
his  writiiKj.) 

Hely  (iteruni.,  but  very  low).      Oil,  Charlotte,  Char • 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Hely  is  raving  about  that  girl— that  girl  with 
the  horrible  old  mother  in  yelhjw,  don't  you  remember]  and  old 
father — good  old  military  party,  in  a  shabby  old  coat — who  was  at 
the  last  ball.  What  was  the  name  ?  O'Rourke,  what  is  the  rhyme 
for  Baynes  ? 

The  O'R.  Pays,  and  be  hanged  to  you.  You're  always  makin' 
fun  on  me,  you  little  cockney  ! 

Mr.  Motcomh.  Hely  was  just  as  bad  about  the  Danish  girl. 
You  know,  Walse,  you  composed  ever  so  many  verses  to  her,  and 
wrote  home  to  your  mother  to  ask  leave  to  marry  her  ! 

J'he  O'Ji.  I'd  think  him  big  enough  to  marry  without  anybody's 
leave — only  they  wouldn't  have  him  because  he's  so  ugly. 

Mr.  Hely.  Very  good,  O'Rourke.  Very  neat  and  good.  You 
were  diverting  the  company  with  an  anecdote.  Will  you 
proceed  1 

The  O'B.  Well,  then,  the  Cdrisette  had  been  dancing  both  on 
and  off  the  stage  till  she  was  dead  tired,  I  suppose,  and  so  she  fell 
dead  asleep,  and  Figaroff,  taking  the  what-d'ye-call-'em  out  of  the 
Charlotte  Roose,  smayred  her  face  all 

Voice  ivithout.  Deet  Mosho  Ringavood  Twysden,  sivoplay, 
poor  I'honorable  Moshoo  Lownds  ! 

Servant.  Monsieur  Twysden  ! 

Mr.  Twysden.   Mr.  Lowndes,  how  are  you  ? 

Mr.  Lowndes.   Very  well,  thank  you  ;  how  are  you  % 

Mr.  Hely.   Lowndes  is  uncommoidy  brilliant  to-day. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Not  the  worse  for  last  night  1  Some  of  us  were 
a  little  elevated,  I  think  ! 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Some  of  us  quite  the  reverse.  (Little  cad,  what 
does  he  want  ?     Elevated  !  he  couldn't  keep  his  little  legs  !) 

Mr.  Twysden.  Eh  !  Smoking,  I  see.  Thank  you.  I  very 
seldom  do — but  as  you  are  so  kind — puff.  Eh — unconiinouly 
handsome  person  that,  eh — Madame  Cerisette. 

2'he  O'Ji.   Tiiank  ye  for  telling  us. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  If  she  meets  with  your  applause,  Mr.  Twysden, 
I  should  think  Mademoiselle  Ce'risette  is  all  right. 

The  O'B.  Maybe  they'd  raise  her  salary  if  ye  told  her. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Heh — I  see  you're  chafhng  me.  We  have  a 
good  deal  of  tliat  kind  of  thing  in  Somerset — in  our — in — hem  ! 
This  tobacco  is  a  little  strong.  I  am  a  little  shaky  this  morning. 
Wlio,  by  the  way,  is  that  Prince  Boutzoff  who  played  lansquenet 
with    us  ?     Is  he   one  of  the    Livonian    Boutzoti's,    or  one   of  the 


38^  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Hessian  Buutzoffs'?  I  remember  at  my  poor  uncle's,  Lord  Ringwood, 
meeting  a  Prince  Bluchcr  de  Boutzoff,  something  like  this  man,  by 
the  way.      You  knew  my  poor  uncle  ? 

J/r.  Loumdea.  Dined  with  him  here  three  montlis  ago  at  the 
"  Trois  Frferes." 

Mr.  Twysden.  Been  at  Whipham,  I  daresay  1  I  was  bred  up 
there.  It  was  said  once  that  I  was  to  have  been  his  lieir.  He 
was  very  fond  of  me.     He  was  my  godfatlier. 

The  O'li.  Then  he  gave  you  a  mug,  and  it  wasn't  a  beauty 
(sotto  voce)^ 

Mr.  Twysden.  You  said  sometliin'  1  I  was  speaking  of  Whip- 
ham,  Mr.  Lowndes — one  of  the  finest  places  in  England,  I  should 
say,  except  Chatsworth,  you  know,  and  that  sort  of  thing.  My 
grandfather  built  it — I  mean  my  greatgrandfather,  for  I'm  of  the 
Ringwood  family. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Then  was  Lord  Ringwood  your  grandfather,  or 
your  grand  godfather  1 

Mr.  Twysden.  He  !  he  !  My  mother  was  his  own  niece.  My 
grandfather  was  his  own  brother,  and  I  am 

Mr.  Loivndes.  Thank  you.     I  see  now. 

Mr.  Halkin.  Das  ist  sehr  interessant.  Ich  versichere  Ihnen, 
das  ist  SEHR  interessant. 

Mr.  Tivysden.  Said  soinethin' ?  (This  cigar  is  really  —  I'll 
throw  it  away,  please.)  I  was  saying  that  at  Whipham,  where  I 
was  bred  up,  we  would  be  forty  at  dinner,  and  as  many  more  in 
the  upper  servants'  hall. 

Mr.  Loivndes.  And  you  dined  in  the — you  had  pretty  good 
dinners  1 

Mr.  Twysden.  A  French  chef.  Two  aids,  besides  turtle  from 
town.  Two  or  three  regular  cooks  on  the  establishment,  besides 
kitchen-maids,  roasters,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  you  understand. 
How  many  have  you  here  now*?  In  Lord  Estridge's  kitchen  you 
can't  do,  I  should  say,  at  least  without, — let  me  see — why,  in  our 
small  way — and  if  you  come  to  London  my  father  will  be  dev'lish 
glad  to  see  you — we— — 

^[r.  Lowndes.  How  is  Mrs.  AYoolcomb  this  morning'?  That 
was  a  fair  dinner  Woolcomb  gave  us  yesterday. 

Mr.  Twysden.  He  has  plenty  of  money,  ])lenty  of  money.  I 
hope,  Lowndes,  when  you  come  to  town — the  first  time  you  come, 
mind — to  give  you  a  hearty  welcome  and  some  of  my  father's  old 
por 

Mr.  Hely.  Will  nobody  kick  this  little  beast  out  ? 

Servant.  Monsieur  Chesham  peut-il  voir  M.  Firmin  ? 

Mr.  Chesham.   Certainly.      Come  in,  Firmin  ! 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     383 

Mr.  Twysden.  Mr.  Feannang — Mr.  Fir — Mr.  ?;'//o  .?  You  don't 
mean  to  say  you  receive  that  fellow,  ]\Ir.  Cheshani  ? 

Mr.  Chesham.  AVhat  fellow  ?  and  what  do  you  mean,  I\Ir. 
What-dy'e-call-'im? 

Mr.     Tu'i/sden.   That     blaekg oh  —  that     i.s,     I^ — I    beg 

your 

Mr.  FirDiin  {entering  and  govng  up  to  Mr.  Chiesham).  I  say, 
give  me  a  bit  of  news  of  to-day.  What  were  you  saying  about  that 
— hum  and  hum  an<l  haw — mayn't  I  have  \i1  {He  is  talJiinif 
confidentlidly  ivith  Mr.  Chesham,  irhen  he  sees  Mr.  Twysden.) 
What !  you  have  got  that  little  cad  here  1 

Mr.  Lovmd.es.  You  know  Mr.  TM'vsden,  Mr.  Firmin.  He  was 
just  speaking  about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin.  Was  he]     So  much  tlu;  worse  for  me. 

Mr.  Twysden.  Sir !  We  don't  speak.  You've  no  right  to 
speak  to  me  in  this  manner !  Don't  speak  to  me  :  and  I  won't 
sjjcak  to  you,  sir — there  !  Good-morning,  Mr.  Lowndes  !  Re- 
member your  promise  to  come  and  dine  with  us  when  you  come 
to  town.  And^ — one  word — {he  holds  Mr.  Lowndes  by  the  button. 
By  the  n'ay,  he  has  very  curious  resemblances  to  Ttm/sden  senior) — 
we  shall  be  here  for  ten  days  certainly.  I  think  Lady  Estridge 
has  something  next  week.     I  have  left  our  cards,  and 

Mr.  I^owndes.  Take  care.  He  will  be  there  {]>ointing  to  Mr. 
Firmin). 

Mr.  Twysden.  What?  That  beggar?  You  don't  mean  to  say 
Lord  Estridge  will  receive  such  a  i'ellow  as Good-bye,  good- 
bye !     {Exit  Mr.  Twysden.) 

Mr.  Firmin.  I  caught  that  little  fellow's  eye.  He's  my  cousin, 
you  know.  We  have  had  a  (juarrel.  I  am  sure  he  was  speaking 
about  me. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Well,  now  you  mention  it,  he  teas  speaking 
about  you. 

Mr.  Firmin.  Was  he?  Then  donH  believe  him,  Mr.  Lowndes. 
That  is  my  advice. 

Mr.  Hely  {at  his  desk  coinposing).      "Maiden  of  the  blushing 

cheek.  Maiden  of  the — oh,  Gharlotte,  Char "  he  bites  his  pen 

and  dashes  off  rapid  rhymes  on  Government  pa])er. 

Ml-.  Firmin.   What  does  he  say?     He  said  Charlotte. 

Mr.  Loirndes.  He  is  always  in  Iom'  and  breaking  his  heart,  and 
he  puts  it  into  j)oenis  :  he  wraps  it  u]i  in  ]iaper,  and  falls  in  love 
witli  somebody  else.      Sit  down  and  smoke  a  cigar,  won't  you? 

}fr.  Firmin.  Can't  stay.  I\Iust  make  up  my  letter.  We  print 
to-moiniw. 

Mr.  Lownibs.   Who  wrote  that  article  pitching  into  Peel? 


384  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Mr.  Firmiii.  Family  secret — can't  say — good-bye.  {Exit  Mr. 
Firmin. ) 

Mr.  Cheshani.  In  my  opinion  a  most  ill-advised  and  intem- 
perate article.  That  joiu'nal,  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  indulges  in  a 
very  needless  acrimony,  I  think. 

Mr.  Lowndes.  Chesham  does  not  like  to  call  a  spade  a  spade. 
He  calls  it  a  horticultural  utensil.  You  have  a  great  career  before 
you,  Chesham.  You  have  a  wisdom  and  gravity  beyond  your  years. 
You  bore  us  slightly,  but  we  all  respect  you — we  do  indeed.  What 
was  the  text  at  church  last  Sunday  %  Oh,  by  the  way,  Hely,  you 
little  miscreant,  yon  were  at  church  ! 

Mr.  Chesham.  You  need  not  blush,  Hely.  I  am  not  a  joking 
man ;  but  this  kind  of  jesting  does  not  strike  me  as  being  particu- 
larly amusing,  Lowndes. 

Mr.  Loioiides.  You  go  to  church  because  you  are  good,  because 
your  aunt  was  a  bishop  or  something.  But  Hely  goes  because  he 
is  a  little  miscreant.  You  hypocritical  little  beggar,  you  got  your- 
self up  as  if  you  were  going  to  a  dejeune,  and  you  had  your  hair 
curled,  and  you  were  seen  singing  out  of  the  same  hymn-book  with 
that  pretty  Miss  Baynes,  you  little  wheedling  sinner;  and  you 
walked  home  with  the  family — my  sisters  saw  you — to  a  boarding- 
house  where  they  live — by  Jove  !  you  did.  And  I'll  tell  your 
mother ! 

Mr.  Chesham.  I  wish  you  would  not  make  such  a  noise,  and 
let  me  do  my  work,  Lowndes.     You 

Here  Asmodeus  whisks  us  out  of  the  room,  and  we  lose  the  rest 
of  the  young  men's  conversation.  But  enough  has  been  overheard, 
I  think,  to  show  what  direction  young  Mr.  Holy's  thoughts  had 
taken.  Since  he  was  seventeen  years  of  age  (at  the  time  when  we 
behold  him  he  may  be  twenty-three)  this  romantic  youth  has  been 
repeatedly  in  love  :  with  his  elderly  tutor's  daughter,  of  course ; 
with  a  young  haberdasher  at  the  University ;  with  his  sister's  con- 
fidential friend ;  with  the  blooming  young  Danish  beauty  last  year ; 
and  now,  I  very  much  fear,  a  young  acquaintance  of  ours  has 
attracted  the  attention  of  this  imaginative  Don  Juan.  Whenever 
Hely  is  in  love,  he  fancies  his  passion  will  last  for  ever,  makes  a 
confidant  of  tlie  first  person  at  hand,  weeps  plenteously,  and  writes 
reams  of  verses.  Do  you  remember  how  in  a  previous  chapter  we 
told  you  that  Mrs.  Tuttin  was  determined  she  would  not  ask  Pliilip 
to  her  soirees,  and  declared  him  to  be  a  forward  and  disagreeable 
young  man  1  She  was  glad  enough  to  receive  young  Walsingham 
Hely,  with  his  languid  air,  his  drooping  head,  his  fair  curls,  and  his 
flower  in  his  button-hole  ;  and  Hely,  being  then  in  hot  pursuit  of 
one  of  the  tall  Miss  Blacklocks,  went  to  Mrs.  Tulfin's,  was  welcomed 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     385 

there  with  all  the  honours ;  and  there,  fluttering  away  from  Miss 
Blacklock,  our  butterfly  lighted  on  Miss  Baynes.  Now  Miss 
Baynes  would  have  danced  with  a  mop-stick,  she  was  so  fond  of 
dancing :  and  Hely,  who  had  practised  in  a  thousand  Chaumiei'cs, 
Mabilles  (or  whatever  was  the  public  dance-room  then  in  vogue), 
was  a  most  amiable,  agile,  and  excellent  partner.  And  she  told 
Philip  next  day  what  a  nice  little  partner  she  had  found — poor 
Philip,  who  was  not  asked  to  that  paradise  of  a  party.  And  Phiiiji 
said  that  he  knew  the  little  man ;  th-at  he  believed  he  was  rich  ; 
that  he  wrote  pretty  little  verses  : — in  a  word,  Pliilip,  in  his  leonine 
way,  regarded  little  Hely  as  a  lion  regards  a  lapdog. 

Now  this  little  Slyboots  had  a  thousand  artful  little  ways.  He 
had  a  very  keen  sensibility  and  a  fine  taste,  which  was  most  readily 
touched  by  innocence  and  beauty.  He  had  tears,  I  won't  say  at 
command ;  for  they  were  under  no  command,  and  gushed  from  his 
fine  eyes  in  spite  of  himself  Charlotte's  innocence  and  freslniess 
smote  him  with  a  keen  pleasure.  Bon  Dieu  !  What  was  that 
great  tall  Miss  Blacklock  who  had  tramped  through  a  thousand 
ball-rooms,  compared  to  this  artless  happy  creature  1  He  danced 
away  from  Miss  Blacklock  and  after  Charlotte  the  moment  he  saw 
our  young  friend  ;  and  the  Blacklocks,  who  knew  all  about  him, 
and  his  money,  and  his  mother,  and  his  expectations — who  had  his 
verses  in  their  poor  album,  by  whose  carriage  he  had  capered  day 
after  day  in  the  Bois  de  Boulogne — stood  scowling  and  deserted,  as 
this  young  fellow  danced  off"  with  that  Miss  Baynes,  who  lived  in 
a  boarding-house,  and  came  to  parties  in  a  cab  with  her  horrid  old 
mother !  The  Blacklocks  were  as  though  they  were  not  henceforth 
for  Mr.  Hely.  They  asked  him  to  dinner.  Bless  my  soul,  he 
utterly  forgot  all  about  it !  He  never  came  to  their  box  on  their 
night  at  the  opera.  Not  one  twinge  of  remorse  had  he.  Not  one 
pang  of  remembrance.  If  he  did  remember  them,  it  was  when 
tliey  bored  him,  like  those  tall  tragic  women  in  black  who  arc 
always  coming  in  tlieir  great  long  trains  to  sing  sermons  to  Don 
Juan.  Ladies,  your  name  is  down  in  his  Lordshii)'s  catalogue  ; 
his  servant  has  it ;  and  you,  Miss  Anna,  are  number  one  thousand 
and  three. 

But  as  for  Miss  Charlotte,  that  is  a  diff'erent  affair.  What  inno- 
cence !  What  a  fraxcherir  !  What  a  merry  good-humour  !  Don 
Slyboots  is  touched,  he  is  tenderly  interested  :  her  artless  voice 
thrills  tlirough  his  frame  ;  he  trembles  as  he  waltzes  with  her  ; 
as  his  fine  eyes  look  at  her,  })sha !  what  is  that  film  coming  over 
them  ?  0  Slyboots,  Slyboots  !  And  as  she  has  nothing  to  cdnceal, 
she  has  told  him  all  he  wants  to  know  before  long.  This  is  her 
first  winter  in  Paris  :  her  first  season  of  coming  out.  She  has  only 
11  2b' 


386  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

been  to  two  balls  before,  ami  two  plays  and  an  opera.  And  her 
father  met  Mr.  Hely  at  Lord  Trim's.  That  was  her  father  playing 
at  whist.  And  they  lived  at  Madame  Smolensk's  boarding-house 
in  the  Champs  Elysdes.  And  they  had  been  to  Mr.  Dash's,  and  to 
Mrs.  Blank's,  and  she  believed  they  were  going  to  Mrs.  Star's  on 
Friday.  And  did  they  go  to  church  ?  Of  course  they  went  to 
church,  to  the  Rue  d'Aguesseau,  or  wherever  it  might  be.  And  Sly 
boots  went  to  church  next  Sunday.  You  may  perhaps  guess  to 
what  church.  And  he  went  the  Sunday  after.  And  he  sang  his 
own  songs,  accompanying  himself  on  the  guitar,  at  his  lodgings. 
And  he  sang  elsewhere.  And  he  had  a  very  pretty  little  voice. 
Slyboots  had.  I  believe  those  poems  under  the  common  title  of 
"  Gretchen  "  in  our  Walsingham's  charming  volume  were  all  inspired 
by  Miss  Baynes.  He  began  to  write  about  her  and  himself  the 
very  first  night  after  seeing  her.  He  smoked  cigarettes  and  drank 
green  tea.  He  looked  so  pale — so  pale  and  sad  that  he  quite  pitied 
himself  in  the  looking-glass  in  his  apartments  in  the  Rue  Mirom^nil. 
And  he  compared  himself  to  a  wrecked  mariner,  and  to  a  grave, 
and  to  a  man  entranced  and  brought  to  life.  And  he  cried  quite 
freely  and  satisfactorily  by  himself  And  he  went  to  see  his  mother 
and  sister  next  day  at  the  "  Hotel  de  la  Terrasse,"  and  cried  to 
them  and  said  he  was  in  love  this  time  for  ever  and  ever.  And  his 
sister  called  him  a  goose.  And  after  crying  he  ate  an  uncommonly 
good  dinner.  And  he  took  every  one  into  his  confidence,  as  he 
always  did  whenever  he  was  in  love  :  always  telling,  always  making 
verses,  and  always  crying.  As  for  Miss  Blacklock,  he  buried  the 
dead  body  of  that  love  deep  in  the  ocean  of  his  soul.  The  waves 
engulphed  Miss  B.  The  ship  rolled  on.  The  storm  went  down. 
And  the  stars  rose,  and  tlae  dawn  was  in  his  soul,  &c.  Well,  well ! 
The  mother  was  a  vulgar  woman,  and  I  am  glad  you  are  out  of  it. 
And  what  sort  of  people  are  General  Baynes  and  Mrs.  Baynes  ? 

"  Oh,  delightful  people.  Most  distinguished  officer,  the  father  ; 
modest — doesn't  say  a  word.  The  mother,  a  most  lively,  brisk, 
agreeable  woman.  You  must  go  and  see  her,  ma'am.  I  desire 
you'll  go  immediately." 

"And  leave  cards  with  P.  P.  C.  for  the  Miss  Blacklocksl" 
says  Miss  Hely,  who  was  a  plain  lively  person.  And  both  mother 
and  sister  spoiled  this  young  Hely ;  as  women  ought  always  to 
spoil  a  son,  a  brother,  a  father,  husband,  grandfather— any  male 
relative,  in  a  word. 

To  see  this  spoiled  son  married  was  the  good-natured  mother's 
fond  lirayer.  An  elder  son  had  died  a  rake  ;  a  victim  to  too  much 
money,  pleasure,  idleness.  The  widowed  mother  would  give  any- 
thing to  save  this  one  from  the  career  through  which  the  elder  had 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     387 

l)a.ssed.  The  young  man  would  be  one  day  so  wealthy,  that  she 
knew  many  and  many  a  schemer  would  try  and  entrap  him.  Per- 
liaps  she  had  been  made  to  marry  his  father  because  he  was  rich  ; 
and  she  remembered  the  gloom  and  wretchedness  of  her  own  union. 
Oil,  that  she  could  see  her  son  out  of  temptation,  and  the  husband 
uf  an  honest  girl !  It  was  the  young  lady's  first  season  1  So  much 
the  more  likely  that  she  should  be  unworldly.  "  The  (General — 
don't  you  remember"  a  nice  old  gentleman  —in  a — well,  in  a  wig — 
that  day  we  dined  at  Lord  Trim's,  when  that  horrible  old  Lord 
Ringwood  was  there  1  That  was  General  Baynes ;  and  he  broke 
out  so  enthusiastically  in  defence  of  a  poor  young  man — Dr.  Firniin's 
son — who  was  a  bad  man,  I  believe ;  but  I  shall  never  have  con- 
fidence in  another  doctor  again,  that  I  shan't.  And  we'll  call  on 
these  people,  Fanny.  Yes,  in  a  brown  wig — the  General,  I  per- 
fectly well  remember  him,  and  Lord  Trim  said  he  was  a  most 
distinguished  officer.  And  I  have  no  doubt  his  wife  will  be  a  most 
agreeable  person.  Those  generals'  wives  who  have  travelled  over 
the  world  must  have  acquired  a  quantity  of  delightful  informa- 
tion. At  a  boarding-house,  are  they  1  I  daresay  very  pleasant  and 
amusing.     And  we'll  drive  there  and  call  on  them  immediately." 

On  that  day,  as  Macgrigor  and  INIoira  Baynes  were  disporting 
in  the  little  front  garden  of  Madame  Smolensk's,  I  think  Moira  was 
just  about  to  lick  Macgrigor,  when  his  fratricidal  hand  was  stopped 
by  the  sight  of  a  large  yellow  carriage— a  large  London  dowager 
family  carriage — from  which  descended  a  large  London  family  foot- 
man, with  side-locks  begrimed  with  powder,  with  calves  such  as 
only  belong  to  large  London  family  footmen,  and  with  cards  in  his 
hand.  "  Ceci  Madame  Smolensk'?"  says  the  large  menial.  "Oui," 
says  the  ])oy,  nodding  his  head  ;  on  which  the  footman  was  puzzled, 
for  he  thought  from  his  readiness  in  the  us<!  of  the  French  language 
that  the  boy  was  a  F'renchman. 

"  Ici  demure  General  Bang  'I "  continued  the  man. 

"Hand  us  over  the  cards,  John.     Not  at  home,"  said  Moira. 

"  117/0  ain't  at  'oiiic?"  iniiuircd  tlie  menial. 

"  General  Baynes,  my  father,  ain't  at  home.  He  shall  have  the 
pasteboard  when  he  comes  in.  '  Mrs.  Hely  1 '  Oh,  Mac,  it's  the 
same  name  as  that  young  swell  who  called  the  other  day  !  Ain't 
at  home,  John.  Gone  out  to  pay  some  visits.  Had  a  fly  ou 
purpose.  Gone  out  with  my  sister.  'Pon  my  word,  they  have, 
John."  And  from  this  accurate  report  of  the  boy's  behaviour,  I 
fear  that  the  yoinig  Baynes  must  have  been  brought  up  at  a  classical 
and  commercial  academy,  where  economy  was  more  studied  than 
jiulitcness. 

Philip  comes  trudging  up  \n  (liiincr,  and  as  this  is  not  his  post 


388  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

day,  arrives  early ;  he  hopes,  perhaps,  for  a  walk  with  Miss 
Charlotte,  or  a  coze  in  Madame  Smolensk's  little  private  room. 
He  finds  the  two  boys  in  the  forecourt ;  and  they  have  Mrs.  Hely's 
cards  in  their  hands ;  and  they  narrate  to  him  the  advent  and 
departure  of  the  lady  in  the  swell  carriage,  the  mother  of  the 
young  swell  with  the  flower  in  his  button-hole,  who  came  the  other 
day  on  such  a  jolly  horse.  "  Yes.  And  he  was  at  church  last 
Sunday,  Philip,  and  he  gave  Charlotte  a  hymn-book.  And  he 
sang :  he  sang  like  the  piper  who  phiyed  before  Moses,  pa  said. 
And  ma  said  it  was  wicked,  but  it  wasn't:  only  pa's  fun,  you  know. 
And  ma  said  yo^l  never  came  to  church.     Why  don't  you  1 " 

Philip  had  no  taint  of  jealousy  in  his  magnanimous  composition, 
and  would  as  soon  have  accused  Charlotte  of  flirting  with  other  men 
as  of  stealing  Madame's  silver  spoons.  "  So  you  have  had  some 
fine  visitors,"  he  says,  as  the  fly  drives  up.  "  I  remember  that 
rich  Mrs.  Hely,  a  patient  of  my  father's.  My  poor  mother  used  to 
drive  to  her  house.'' 

"  Oh,  we  have  seen  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Hely,  Philip  ! "  cries 
Miss  Charlotte,  not  heeding  the  scowls  of  her  mother,  who  is 
nodding  and  beckoning  angrily  to  the  girl. 

"  You  never  once  mentioned  him.  He  is  one  of  the  greatest 
dandies  about  Paris  :  quite  a  lion,"  remarks  Philij). 

"  Is  he  %  What  a  funny  little  lion  !  I  never  thought  about 
him,"  says  Miss  Charlotte,  quite  simply.  Oh  ingratitude  !  ingrati- 
tude !  And  we  have  told  how  Mr.  Walsingham  was  crying  his 
eyes  out  for  her. 

"  She  never  thought  about  him,"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  quite 
eagerly. 

"The  piper,  is   it,    you're    talking  about  1"   asks   papa.       "I 

called  him  piper,  you  see,  because  he  piped  so  sweetly  at  ch 

Well,  my  love?" 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  nudging  her  General  at  this  moment.  She 
did  not  wish  that  the  piper  should  form  the  subject  of  conversation, 
I  suppose. 

"  The  piper's  mother  is  very  rich,  and  the  piper  will  inlierit 
after  her.  She  has  a  fine  house  in  London.  She  gives  very  fine 
parties.  She  drives  in  a  great  carriage,  and  she  has  come  to  call 
upon  you,  and  ask  you  to  her  balls,  I  suppose." 

Mrs.  Baynes  was  delighted  at  this  call.  And  when  she  said, 
"  I'm  sure  /  don't  value  fine  people,  or  their  fine  parties,  or  their 
fine  carriages,  but  I  wish  that  my  dear  child  should  see  the  world," 
— I  don't  believe  a  word  which  Mrs.  Baynes  said.  She  was  much 
more  pleased  tlian  Cliarlotte  at  the  idea  of  visiting  this  fine  lady  ; 
or  else,  why  should  she  have  coaxeil,  and  wheedled,  and  been  so 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     389 

particularly  gracious  to  the  General  all  the  evening?  She  wanted 
a  new  gown.  The  truth  is,  her  yellow  tvas  very  shabby  ;  whereas 
Charlotte,  in  plain  white  muslin,  looked  pretty  enough  to  be  able 
to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  any  French  milliner.  I  fancy  a  con- 
sultation with  Madame  and  Mrs.  Bunch.  I  fancy  a  fly  ordered, 
and  a  visit  to  the  milliner's  the  next  day.  And  wlien  the  pattern 
of  the  gown  is  settled  with  the  milliner,  I  foncy  the  terror  on  Mrs. 
Baynes's  wizened  face  when  she  ascertains  the  amount  of  the  bill. 
To  do  her  justice,  the  General's  wife  had  spent  little  upon  her  own 
homely  person.  She  chose  her  gowns  ugly,  but  cheap.  There  were 
so  many  backs  to  clothe  in  that  family  that  the  thrifty  mother  did 
not  heed  the  decoration  of  her  own. 


CHAPTER   XXIV 

NEC  DULCES  AMORES  SPERNE,   PUER,   NEQUE   TU  CHOREAS 

MY  dear,"  Mrs.  Baynes  said  to  her  daughter,  "you  are 
going  out  a  great  deal  in  the  world  now.  You  will  go  to 
a  great  number  of  places  where  poor  Philip  cannot  hope  to 
be  admitted." 

"Not  admit  Philip,  mamma!  then  I'm  sure  I  don't  want  to 
go,"  cries  the  girl. 

"Time  enough  to  leave  off  going  to  parties  when  you  can't 
afford  it  and  marry  him.  When  I  was  a  lieutenant's  wife,  I  didn't 
go  to  any  parties  out  of  the  regiment,  my  dear  !  " 

"  Oh,  then,  I  am  sure  I  shall  never  want  to  go  out !  "  Charlotte 
declares. 

"You  fancy  he  will  always  stop  at  home,  I  daresay.  Men 
are  not  all  so  domestic  as  your  papa.  Very  few  love  to  stop  at 
home  like  him.  Indeed,  I  may  say  that  I  have  made  his  home 
comfortable.  But  one  thing  is  clear,  my  child.  Philip  can't  always 
expect  to  go  where  we  go.  He  is  not  in  the  position  in  life.  Re- 
collect, your  father  is  a  general  officer,  C.B.,  and  may  be  K.C.B. 
soon,  and  your  mother  is  a  general  officer's  lady.  We  may  go 
anywhere.  I  miglit  have  gone  to  the  drawing-room  at  home  if 
I  chose.  Lady  Biggs  would  have  been  delighted  to  present  me. 
Your  aunt  has  been  to  the  drawing-room,  and  she  is  only  Mrs. 
Major  MacWhirter ;  and  most  absurd  it  was  of  Mac  to  let  her  go. 
But  she  rules  him  in  everything,  and  they  have  no  children.  I 
have,  goodness  knows !  I  sacrifice  myself  for  my  children.  You 
little  know  what  I  deny  myself  for  my  children.  I  said  to  Lady 
Biggs,  '  No,  Lady  Biggs ;  my  husband  may  go.  He  should  go. 
He  has  his  uniform,  and  it  will  cost  him  nothing  except  a  fly  and 
a  boucjuet  for  the  man  wlio  drives ;  but  /  will  not  spend  money 
on  myself,  for  the  hire  of  diamonds  and  feathers,  and,  though  I 
yield  in  loyalty  to  no  person,  I  daresay  my  Sovereign  won't  miss 
me.'  And  I  don't  think  her  Majesty  did.  She  has  other  things 
to  think  of  besides  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  I  suppose.  She  is  a 
mother,  and  can  appreciate  a  mother's  sacrifices  for  her  children." 

If  I   have   not    hitherto  given   you    detailed   reports    of  Mrs. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     .-591 

General  Baynes's  conversation,  I  don't  tliink,  my  esteemed  readei-, 
you  will  be  very  angry. 

"  Now,  child,"  the  General's  lady  continued,  "  let  me  warn  you 
not  to  talk  much  to  Philip  about  those  places  to  which  you  go  with- 
out him,  and  to  which  his  position  in  life  does  not  allow  of  his 
coming.  Hide  anything  from  him  1  Oh  dear,  no !  Only  for  his 
own  good,  you  understand.  I  don't  tell  everything  to  your  pai)a. 
I  should  only  worrit  him  and  vex  him.  When  anything  will  please 
him  and  make  him  happy,  then  I  tell  liiin.  And  about  Philij)  % 
Philip,  I  must  say  it,  my  ilear — I  must  as  a  mother  say  it — has 
his  faults.  He  is  an  envious  man.  Don't  look  shocked.  He 
thinks  very  well  of  himself;  and  having  been  a  great  deal  spoiled, 
and  made  too  much  of  in  his  unhappy  father's  time,  he  is  so  proud 
and  haughty  that  he  forgets  his  position,  and  thinks  lie  ought  to 
live  with  the  highest  society.  Had  Lord  Ringwood  left  him  a 
fortune,  as  Philip  led  us  to  expect  when  we  gave  our  consent  to  this 
most  unlucky  match— for  that  my  dear  child  should  marry  a  beggar 
is  most  unlucky  and  most  deplorable ;  I  can't  help  saying  so, 
Charlotte, — if  I  were  on  my  deathbed  I  couldn't  help  saying  so  ; 
and  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  we  had  never  seen  or  heard  of  him. 
—  There  !  Don't  go  off  in  one  of  your  tantrums  !  What  was  I 
saying,  pray?  I  say  that  Philip  is  in  no  position,  or  rather  in  a 
very  humble  one,  which — a  mere  newspaper-writer  and  a  subaltern 
too — everybody  acknowledges  it  to  be.  And  if  he  hears  us  talking 
about  our  parties  to  which  we  have  a  right  to  go — to  which  you 
have  a  right  to  go  with  your  mother,  a  general  officer's  lady — why, 
iie'll  be  offended.  He  won't  like  to  hear  about  them  and  think  he 
can't  be  invited ;  and  yon  had  better  not  talk  about  them  at  all,  or 
about  the  people  you  meet  and  dance  with.  At  Mrs.  Hely's  you 
may  dance  with  Lord  Headbury,  the  ambassador's  son.  And  if 
you  tell  Philip  he  will  be  offended.  He  will  say  that  you  boast 
about  it.  When  I  was  only  a  lieutenant's  wife  at  Barrackpore, 
Mrs.  Captain  Capers  used  to  go  to  Calcutta  to  the  Government 
House  balls.  I  didn't  go.  But  I  was  offenfled,  and  I  used  to  say 
that  Flora  Capers  gave  herself  airs,  and  was  always  boasting  of  her 
intimacy  with  the  Marchioness  of  Hastings.  We  don't  like  our 
equals  to  be  better  off  than  ourselves.  Mark  my  words.  And  if 
you  talk  to  Philip  about  the  people  whom  you  meet  in  society,  and 
whom  he  can't  from  his  unfortunate  station  expect  to  know,  you 
Avill  offend  him.  That  was  wliy  I  nudged  you  to-day  when  you 
were  going  on  about  Mr.  Hely.  Anything  so  absurd !  I  saw 
Philip  getting  angry  at  once,  and  biting  his  moustaches,  as  he 
always  does  when  he  is  angry — and  swears  quite  out  loud — so 
vulgar  !     There  !  you  are  going  to  be  angry  again,  my  love  :  I  never 


392  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

saw  anything  like  you  !  Is  this  my  Charly  who  never  was  angry  1 
I  know  the  world,  dear,  and  you  don't.  Look  at  me,  how  I  manage 
your  papa,  and  I  tell  you  don't  talk  to  Philip  about  things  which 
offend  him  !  Now,  dearest,  kiss  your  poor  old  mother  who  loves 
you.  Go  upstairs  and  bathe  your  eyes,  and  come  down  happy  to 
dinner."  And  at  dinner  Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  uncommonly 
gracious  to  PhiUp  :  and  when  gracious  she  was  especially  odious  to 
Philip,  whose  magnanimous  nature  accommodated  itself  ill  to  the 
wheedlin.g  artifices  of  an  ill-bred  old  woman. 

Following  this  wretched  mother's  advice,  my  poor  Charlotte 
spoke  scarcely  at  all  to  Philip  of  the  parties  to  which  she  went,  and 
the  amusements  which  she  enjoyed  without  him.  I  daresay  Mrs. 
Baynes  was  quite  happy  in  thinking  that  she  was  "  guiding "  her 
child  rightly.  As  if  a  coarse  woman,  because  she  is  mean,  and 
greedy,  and  hypocritical,  and  fifty  years  old,  has  a  right  to  lead  a 
guileless  nature  into  wrong  !  Ah  !  if  some  of  us  old  folks  were  to 
go  to  school  to  our  children,  I  am  sure,  madam,  it  would  do  us  a 
great  deal  of  good.  There  is  a  fund  of  good  sense  and  honourable 
feeling  about  my  great-grandson  Tommy,  which  is  more  valuable 
than  all  his  grandpajja's  experience  and  knowledge  of  the  world. 
Knowledge  of  the  world  forsooth  !  Compromise,  selfishness  modi- 
fied, and  double  dealing.  Tom  disdains  a  lie :  when  he  wants  a 
peach,  he  roars  for  it.  If  his  mother  wishes  to  go  to  a  party,  she 
coaxes,  and  wheedles,  and  manages,  and  smirks,  and  ciu"tseys  for 
months,  in  order  to  get  her  end ;  takes  twenty  rebuff's,  and  comes 
up  to  the  scratch  again  smiling ; — and  this  woman  is  for  ever  lectur- 
ing her  daughters,  and  preaching  to  her  sons  upon  virtue,  honesty, 
and  moral  behaviour  ! 

Mrs.  Hely's  little  party  at  the  "Hotel  de  la  Terrasse"  was 
very  pleasant  and  bright ;  and  Miss  Charlotte  enjoyed  it,  although 
her  swain  was  not  present.  But  Philip  was  pleased  that  his 
little  Charlotte  should  be  happy.  She  beheld  with  wonderment 
Parisian  duchesses,  American  millionaires,  dandies  from  the  em- 
bassies, deputies  and  peers  of  France  with  large  stars  and  wigs 
like  papa.  She  gaily  described  her  party  to  Philip ;  described,  that 
is  to  say,  everything  but  her  own  success,  which  was  undoubted. 
There  were  many  beauties  at  Mrs.  Hely's,  but  nobody  fresher  or 
prettier.  The  Miss  Blacklocks  retired  very  early  and  in  the  worst 
possible  temper.  Prince  Slyboots  did  not  in  the  least  heed  their 
going  away.  His  thoughts  were  all  fixed  upon  little  Charlotte. 
Charlotte's  mamma  saw  the  impression  which  the  girl  made,  and 
was  filled  with  a  hungry  joy.  Good-natured  Mrs.  Hely  compli- 
mented her  on  her  daughter.  "  Thank  God,  she  is  as  good  as  she 
is  pretty,"  said  the  mother,  I  am  sure  speaking  seriously  this  time 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     393 

regarding  lier  daughter.  Prince  Slyboots  danced  with  scarce  any- 
body else.  He  raised  a  perfect  whirlwind  of  compliments  round 
about  Charlotte.  She  was  quite  a  simple  person,  and  did  not 
understand  one-tenth  part  of  what  he  said  to  her.  He  strewed  her 
path  with  roses  of  poesy  :  he  scattered  garlands  of  sentiment  be- 
fore her  all  the  way  from  the  antechamber  downstairs,  and  so  to 
the  fly  which  was  in  waiting  to  take  her  and  parents  home  to  the 
])oarding-house.  "By  George,  Charlotte,  I  think  you  have  smitten 
that  fellow,"  cries  the  General,  who  was  infinitely  amused  by 
young  Hely — his  raptures,  his  afl"ectations,  his  long  hair,  and  what 
Baynes  called  his  low  dress.  A  slight  white  tape  and  a  ruby 
button  confined  Hely's  neck.  His  hair  waved  over  his  shoulders. 
Baynes  had  never  seen  such  a  specimen.  At  the  mess  of  the  stout 
120tli,  the  lads  talked  of  their  dogs,  horses,  and  sport.  A  young 
civilian,  smattering  in  poetry,  chattering  in  a  dozen  languages, 
scented,  snriling,  perfectly  at  ease  with  himself  and  the  world,  was 
a  novelty  to  the  old  oflicer. 

And  now  the  Queen's  birthday  arrived — and  that  it  may  arrive 
for  many  scores  of  years  yet  to  come  is,  I  am  sure,  the  prayer  of 
all  of  us — and  with  the  birthday  his  Excellency  Lord  Estridge's 
grand  annual  fete  in  honour  of  his  sovereign.  A  card  for  their 
ball  was  left  at  Madame  Smolensk's,  for  General,  Mrs.,  and  Miss 
Baynes ;  and  no  doubt  Monsieur  Slyboots  Walsingham  Hely  was 
the  artful  agent  by  whom  the  invitation  was  forwarded.  Once 
more  the  General's  veteran  uniform  came  out  from  the  tin-box,  Avith 
its  dingy  epaulets  and  little  cross  and  ribbon.  His  wife  urged  on 
him  strongly  the  necessity  of  having  a  new  wig,  wigs  being  very 
cheap  and  good  at  Paris  ;  but  Baynes  said  a  new  wig  would  make 
his  old  coat  look  very  shabby,  and  a  new  uniform  would  cost  more 
money  than  he  would  like  to  aflbrd.  So  shabby  he  went  de  cap  a 
2)ied,  with  a  moulting  featlier,  a  threadbare  suit,  a  tarnished  wig, 
and  a  worn-out  lace,  sibi  constans.  Boots,  trousers,  sash,  coat, 
were  all  old  and  worse  for  wear,  and  "  faith,"  says  he,  "  my  face 
filJDWs  suit."  A  brave  silent  man  was  Baynes;  with  a  twinkle  of 
liumour  in  his  lean  wrinkled  face. 

And  if  General  Baynes  Avas  shabbily  attired  at  the  Embassy 
l);dl,  I  think  I  know  a  friend  of  mine  who  was  shabby  too.  In  the 
days  of  his  prosperity,  Mr.  Philip  was  jmmis  cultor  et  infrequens 
of  balls,  routs,  and  ladies'  company.  Perhajis  because  his  father 
was  angered  at  Philip's  neglect  of  his  social  advantages  and  indifier- 
encc  as  to  success  in  tlie  world,  Pliilip  was  the  more  neglectful  and 
indifl'crent.  The  elder's  comedy-smiles,  and  solemn  hyjjocritical 
l)olit(Micss  caused  scorn  and  revolt  on  the  ]iart  of  the  younger  man. 
Philip  despised  the  humbug,  and  the  world  t(   which  such  humbug 


394  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

could  be  welcome.  He  kept  aloof  from  tea-parties  then :  his 
eveniug-dress  clothes  served  him  for  a  loug  time.  I  cannot  say 
how  old  his  dress-coat  was  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing. 
But  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  respecting  that  garment  and  con- 
sidering it  new  and  handsome  for  many  years  past.  Meanwhile 
the  coat  had  shrunk,  or  its  wearer  had  grown  stouter ;  and  his 
grand  embroidered,  embossed,  illuminated,  carved  and  gilt  velvet 
dress  waistcoat,  too,  had  narrowed,  had  become  absurdly  tight  and 
short,  and  I  daresay  was  the  laughing-stock  of  many  of  Philip's 
acquaintances,  whilst  he  himself,  poor  simple  fellow,  was  fancying 
that  it  was  a  most  splendid  article  of  apparel.  You  know  in  the 
Palais  Royal  they  hang  out  the  most  splendid  reach-me-down 
dressing-gowns,  waistcoats,  and  so  forth.  "  No,"  thought  Philip, 
coming  out  of  his  cheap  dining-house,  and  swaggering  along  the 
arcades,  and  looking  at  the  tailors'  shops,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets.  "My  brown  velvet  dress  waistcoat  with  the  gold  sprigs, 
which  I  had  made  at  college,  is  a  much  more  tasty  thing  than  these 
gaudy  ready-mad ;  articles.  And  my  coat  is  old,  certainly,  but  the 
brass  buttons  are  still  very  bright  and  handsome,  and,  in  fact,  it 
is  a  most  becoming  and  gentlemanlike  thing."  And  under  this 
delusion  the  honest  fellow  dressed  himself  in  his  old  clothes,  lighted 
a  pair  of  candles,  and  looked  at  himself  with  satisfaction  in  the 
looking-glass,  drew  on  a  pair  of  cheap  gloves  which  he  had  bought, 
walked  by  the  Quays,  and  over  the  Deputies'  Bridge,  across  the 
Place  Louis  XV.,  and  strutted  up  the  Faubourg  St.  Honord  to  the 
Hotel  of  the  British  Embassy.  A  half-mile  queue  of  carriages  was 
formed  along  the  street,  and  of  course  the  entrance  to  the  hotel  was 
magnificently  illuminated. 

A  plague  on  tliose  cheap  gloves  !  Why  had  not  Philip  paid 
thi-ee  francs  for  a  pair  of  gloves,  instead  of  twenty-nine  sous  1  Mrs. 
Baynes  had  found  a  capital  cheap  glove  shop,  whither  poor  Phil 
had  gone  in  the  simplicity  of  his  heart ;  and  now  as  he  went  in 
under  the  grand  illuminated  2^o^'i^-'^ochere,  Philip  saw  that  the 
gloves  had  given  way  at  the  thumbs,  and  that  his  hands  appeared 
through  the  rents,  as  reil  as  raw  beefsteaks.  It  is  wonderful  how 
red  haTids  will  look  through  holes  in  white  gloves.  "  And  there's 
that  hole  in  my  boot,  too,"  thought  Phil ;  but  he  had  put  a  little 
ink  over  the  seam,  and  so  the  rent  was  imperceptible.  The  coat 
and  waistcoat  were  tight,  and  of  a  past  age.  Never  mind.  The 
chest  was  broad,  the  arms  were  muscular  and  long,  and  Phil's  face, 
in  the  midst  of  a  halo  of  fair  hair  and  flaming  whiskers,  looked 
brave,  honest,  and  handsome.  For  a  while  his  eyes  wandered 
fiercely  and  restlessly  all  about  the  room  from  group  to  group ; 
but  now — ah  !  now — they  were  settled.    They  had  met  another  pair 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     395 

of  eyes,  which  lighted  up  with  glad  welcome  when  they  beheld 
him.  Two  young  cheeks  mantled  with  a  sweet  blush.  These 
were  Charlotte's  cheeks :  and  hard  by  them  were  mamma's,  of 
a  very  different  colour.  But  Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  a  knowing 
turban  on,  and  a  set  of  garnets  round  her  old  neck,  like  gooseberries 
set  in  gold. 

They  admired  the  rooms :  they  heard  the  names  of  the  great 
folks  who  arrived,  and  beheld  many  famous  X'^rsonages.  They 
made  their  curtseys  to  the  ambassadress.  Confusion  !  Witli  a 
great  rip,  the  thumb  of  one  of  those  cheap  gloves  of  Philip's  parts 
company  from  the  rest  of  the  glove,  and  lie  is  obliged  to  wear  it 
crumpled  up  in  his  haiul :  a  dreadful  mi.shap — for  he  is  going  to 
dance  with  Charlotte,  and  he  will  have  to  give  his  hand  to  the 
vis-a-vis. 

Who  comes  up  smiling,  with  a  low  neck,  with  waving  curls 
and  whiskers,  pretty  little  hands  exquisitely  gloved,  and  tiny  feet  ? 
'Tis  Hely  Walsingham,  lightest  in  the  dance.  Most  affably  does 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  greet  the  young  fellow.  Very  brightly  and 
happily  do  Charlotte's  eyes  glance  towards  her  favourite  partner. 
It  is  certain  that  poor  Phil  can't  hope  at  all  to  dance  like  Hely. 
"  And  see  what  nice  neat  feet  and  hands  he  has  got,"  says  Mrs. 
Baynes.  "  Comme  il  est  bien  gante  !  A  gentleman  ought  to  be 
always  well  gloved." 

"  Why  did  you  send  me  to  the  twenty-nine-sous  shop  1 "  says 
poor  Phil,  looking  at  his  tattered  hand-shoes  and  red  obtrusive 
thumb. 

"  Oh,  you ! " — (liere  Mrs.  Baynes  shrugs  her  yellow  old 
shoulders).  "  Your  hands  would  burst  through  any  gloves  !  How 
do  you  do,  Mr.  Hely  ?  Is  your  manrma  here  \  Of  course  she  is  ! 
What  a  delightful  party  she  gave  us  !  The  dear  ambassadress  looks 
(piite  unwell — most  pleasing  manners,  I  am  sure  ;  Lord  Estridge, 
what  a  perfect  gentleman  !  " 

The  Bayneses  were  just  come.  For  what  dance  was  Miss 
Baynes  disengaged '?  "As  many  as  ever  you  like  !  "  cries  Charlotte, 
who,  in  fact,  called  Hely  her  little  dancing-master,  and  never  thought 
iifhim  except  as  a  partner.  "Oh,  too  much  hap})iness  !  Oh,  that 
tills  could  last  for  ever  !  "  sighed  Hely,  after  a  waltz,  polka,  mazurka, 
I  know  not  what,  and  fixing  on  Cliarlotte  the  full  blaze  of  his 
beauteous  blue  eyes.  "For  ever  V  cries  Charlotte,  laughing.  "  Fiii 
very  fond  of  dancing,  indeed ;  and  you  dance  beautifully  ;  but  I 
don't  know  that  I  should  like  to  dance  for  ever."  Ere  the  words 
are  over,  he  is  whirling  her  round  the  room  again.  His  little  feet 
fly  with  surprising  agility.  His  hair  floats  behind  him.  He 
scatters  odours  as  he  spins.      Tlic  handkcrcLief  with  which  he  fans 


396  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

his  pale  brow  is  like  a  cloudy  film  of  muslin — and  poor  old  Philip 
sees  with  terror  that  his  pocket-handkerchief  has  got  three  great 
holes  in  it.  His  nose  and  one  eye  appeared  through  one  of  the 
holes  while  Phil  was  wii)ing  his  forehead.  It  was  very  hot.  He 
was  very  hot.  He  was  hotter,  though  standing  still,  than  young 
Hely  who  was  dancing.  "  He  !  he  !  I  compliment  you  on  your 
gloves,  and  your  handkerchief,  I'm  sure,"  sniggers  Mrs.  Baynes, 
with  a  toss  of  her  turban.  Has  it  not  been  said  that  a  bull  is  a 
strong,  courageous,  and  noble  animal,  but  a  bull  in  a  china-shop  is 
not  in  his  place  1  "  There  you  go.  Thank  you  !  I  wish  you'd  go 
somewhere  else,"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  in  a  fury.  Poor  Philip's  foot 
has  just  gone  through  her  flounce.  How  red  is  he  !  how  much 
hotter  than  ever !  There  go  Hely  and  Charlotte,  whirling  round 
like  two  opera-dancers !  Philip  grinds  his  teeth,  he  buttons  his 
coat  across  his  chest.  How  very  tight  it  feels  !  How  savagely  his 
eyes  glare  !  Do  young  men  still  look  savage  and  solemn  at  balls  1 
An  ingenuous  young  Englishman  ought  to  do  that  duty  of  dancing, 
of  course.  Society  calls  upon  him.  But  I  doubt  whether  he  ought 
to  look  cheerful  during  the  performance,  or  flippantly  engage  in  so 
grave  a  matter. 

As  Charlotte's  sweet  round  face  beamed  smiles  upon  Philip 
over  Hely's  shoulders,  it  looked  so  happy  that  he  never  thought  of 
grudging  her  her  pleasure  :  and  happy  he  might  have  remained  in 
this  contemplation,  regarding  not  the  circle  of  dancers  who  were 
galloping  and  whirling  on  at  their  usual  swift  rate,  but  her,  who 
was  the  centre  of  all  joy  and  pleasure  for  him ;— when  suddenly 
a  shrill  voice  was  heard  behind  him,  crying,  "  Get  out  of  the  way, 
hang  you ! "  and  suddenly  there  bounced  against  him  Ringwood 
Twysden,  pulling  Miss  Flora  Trotter  round  the  room,  one  of  the 
most  powerful  and  intrepid  dancers  of  that  season  at  Paris.  They 
hurtled  past  Philip ;  they  shot  him  forward  against  a  pillar.  He 
heard  a  screech,  an  oath,  and  another  loud  laugh  from  Twysden, 
and  beheld  the  scowls  of  Miss  Trotter  as  that  rapid  creature  bumped 
at  length  into  a  place  of  safety. 

I  tolil  you  about  Philip's  coat.  It  was  very  tight.  The  day- 
light had  long  been  struggling  to  make  an  entry  at  the  seams.  As 
he  staggered  up  against  the  wall,  crack !  went  a  great  hole  at  his 
back ;  and  crack !  one  of  his  gold  buttons  came  off",  leaving  a  rent 
in  his  chest.  It  was  in  those  days  when  gold  buttons  still  lingered 
on  the  breasts  of  some  brave  men,  and  we  have  said  simple  Philip 
still  thought  his  coat  a  fine  one. 

There  was  not  only  a  rent  of  the  seam,  there  was  not  only  a 
burst  button,  but  there  was  also  a  rip  in  Philip's  rich  cut-velvet 
waistcoat,  with  the  gold  sprigs,  which  he  thought  so  handsome — 


m 


M'lp 


MISS   CIIAKI.mTK    AND    HER    PARTNERS. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      S97 

a  great  heartrending  scar.  What  was  to  be  done  1  Retreat  was 
necessary.  He  told  Miss  Charlotte  of  the  hurt  he  had  received, 
whose  face  wore  a  very  comical  look  of  j)ity  at  his  misadventure — 
he  covered  part  of  his  wound  with  his  gibus  hat — and  he  thought 
he  would  try  and  make  his  way  out  by  the  garden  of  the  hotel, 
which,  of  course,  was  illuminated,  and  bright,  and  crowded,  but  not 
so  very  bright  and  crowded  as  the  saloons,  galleries,  supper-rooms, 
and  halls  of  gilded  light  in  which  the  company,  for  the  most  j'^rt, 
assembled. 

So  our  poor  wounded  friend  wandered  into  the  garden,  over 
which  the  moon  was  shining  with  the  most  blank  indifference  at 
the  fiddling,  feasting,  and  particoloured  lamps.  He  says  that  his 
mind  was  soothed  by  the  aspect  of  yonder  placid  moon  and  twink- 
ling stars,  and  that  he  had  altogether  forgotten  his  trumpery  little 
accident  and  torn  coat  and  waistcoat :  but  I  doubt  about  the  entire 
truth  of  this  statement,  for  there  have  been  some  occasions  when 
he,  Mr.  Philij),  has  mentioned  the  subject,  and  owned  that  he  was 
mortified  and  in  a  rage. 

Well.  He  went  into  the  garden  :  and  was  calming  himself  liy 
contemplating  the  stars,  when,  just  by  that  fountain  where  there 
is  Pradier's  little  statue  of — Moses  in  the  bulrushes,  let  us  say — 
round  which  there  was  a  beautifid  row  of  illuminated  lamps, 
lighting  up  a  great  coronal  of  flowers,  which  my  dear  readers  are 
at  liberty  to  select  and  arrange  according  to  their  own  exquisite 
taste ; — near  this  little  fountain  he  found  three  gentlemen  talking 
together. 

The  high  voice  of  one  Philij)  could  hoar,  and  know  from  old 
days.  Ringwood  Twysden,  Estjuire,  always  liked  to  talk  and  to 
excite  himself  with  other  persons'  litpior.  He  had  been  drinking  the 
Sovereign's  health  ^\■ith  great  assiduity,  I  suppose,  and  Avas  exceed- 
ingly loud  and  haj)i)y.  Witli  Ringwood  was  Mr.  Woolcomb,  whose 
coiuitenance  the  lamps  lit  up  in  a  fine  lurid  manner,  and  whose  eye- 
balls gleamed  in  the  twilight :  and  the  third  of  the  group  w'as  our 
young  friend  Mr.  Lowndes. 

"  I  owed  him  one,  you  see,  Lowndes,"  said  Mr.  Ringwood 
Twysden.  "  I  hate  the  fellow  !  Hang  him,  always  did  !  I  saw 
the" great  hulkin' brute  stnndin'  there.  Couldn't  help  myself.  Give 
you  my  honour,  couldn't  help  myself.  I  just  drove  ]\Iiss  Trotter  at 
him — sent  her  elbow  well  into  him,  and  spun  him  up  against  the 
wall.  The  buttons  cracked  oft'  the  beggar's  coat,  begad  !  What 
business  had  he  there,  Iiaiii,'  himl  Gad,  sir,  he  nKuie  a  cnnnoii  uW 
an  old  woman  in  1)lue,  and  went  into " 

Here  Mr.  Ringwoods  si»coch  came  to  aji  end  :  for  his  cousin 
stood  before  hira,  grim  and  biting  his  moustache. 


398  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  Hullo  !  "  piped  the  other.  "  Who  wants  you  to  overhear  my 
conversation  1     Dammy,  I  say  !     I " 

Philip  put  out  that  hand  with  the  torn  glove.  The  glove  was 
in  a  dreadful  state  of  disruption  now.  He  worked  the  hand  well 
into  his  kinsman's  neck,  and  twisting  Ringwood  round  into  a  proper 
position,  brought  that  jwor  old  broken  boot  so  to  bear  upon  the 
proper  quarter,  that  Ringwood  was  discharged  into  the  little  font, 
and  lighted  amidst  the  flowers,  and  the  water,  and  the  oil-lamps, 
and  made  a  dreadful  mess  and  splutter  amongst  them.  And  as 
for  Philip's  coat,  it  was  torn  worse  than  ever. 

I  don't  know  how  many  of  the  brass  buttons  had  revolted  and 
parted  company  from  the  poor  old  cloth,  which  cracked  and  split, 
and  tore  under  the  agitation  of  that  beating  angry  bosom.  I  blush 
as  I  think  of  Mr.  Firmin  in  this  ragged  state,  a  great  rent  all  across 
his  back,  and  his  prostrate  enemy  lying  howling  in  the  water, 
amidst  the  spluttering  crashing  oil-lamps  at  his  feet.  When 
Cinderella  quitted  her  first  ball,  just  after  the  clock  struck  twelve, 
we  all  know  how  shabby  she  looked.  Philip  was  a  still  more 
disreputable  oliject  when  he  slunk  away.  I  don't  know  by  what 
side  door  Mr.  Lowndes  eliminated  him.  He  also  benevolently  took 
charge  of  Philip's  kinsman  and  antagonist,  Mr.  Ringwood  Twysden. 
Mr.  Twysden's  hands,  coat-tails,  &c.,  were  very  much  singed  and 
scalded  by  the  oil,  and  cut  by  the  broken  glass,  which  was  all 
extracted  at  the  Beaujon  Hospital,  but  not  without  mucli  suffering 
on  the  part  of  the  patient.  But  though  young  Lowndes  spoke  up 
for  Philip,  in  describing  the  scene  (I  fear  not  without  laughter),  his 
Excellency  caused  Mr.  Firmin's  name  to  be  erased  from  his  party 
lists  :  and  I  am  sure  no  sensible  man  will  defend  Philip's  conduct  for 
a  moment. 

Of  this  lamentable  fracas  which  occurred  in  the  hotel  garden. 
Miss  Baynes  and  her  parents  had  no  knowledge  for  a  while. 
Charlotte  was  too  much  occupied  with  her  dancing,  which  she 
pursued  with  all  her  might ;  papa  was  at  cards  with  some  sober 
male  and  female  veterans,  and  mamma  was  looking  with  delight  at 
her  daughter,  whom  the  young  gentlemen  of  many  embassies  were 
charmed  to  choose  for  a  partner.  When  Lord  Headbury,  Lord 
Estridge's  son,  was  presented  to  Miss  Baynes,  her  mother  was  so 
elated  that  she  was  ready  to  dance  too.  I  do  not  envy  Mrs.  Major 
MacWhirter,  at  Tours,  the  perusal  of  that  immense  manuscript 
in  which  her  sister  recorded  the  events  of  the  ball.  Here  was 
Charlotte,  beautiful,  elegant,  accomplished,  admired  everyivhere, 
witli  yoinig  men,  young  noblemen  of  immense  property  and  expecta- 
tions, v)ild  about  her  ;  and  engaged  by  a  promise  to  a  rude,  ragged, 
■presumptuous,  ill-bred  young  man,  without  a  penny  in  the  ivorld — 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     S99 

wasn't  it  provoking  ?  Ah,  poor  Philip  !  How  that  little  sour 
yellow  mother-in-law  elect  did  scowl  at  him  when  he  came  with 
rather  a  shamefaced  look  to  pay  his  duty  to  his  sweetheart  on  the 
day  after  the  ball !  Mrs.  Baynes  had  caused  her  daughter  to  dress 
with  extra  smartness,  had  forbidden  the  poor  child  to  go  out,  and 
coaxed  her,  and  wheedled  her,  and  dressed  her  with  I  know  not  what 
ornaments  of  her  own,  with  a  fond  expectation  that  Lord  Headbury, 
that  the  yellow  young  Spanish  attache,  that  the  sinightly  Pruf-sian 
secretary,  and  Walsingham  Hely,  Charlotte's  partners  at  the  ball, 
would  certainly  call  ;  and  the  only  equipage  that  appeared  at 
Madame  Smolensk's  gate  was  a  hack  cab,  which  drove  up  at  even- 
ing, and  out  of  whicli  poor  Philip's  well-known  tattered  boots  came 
striding.  Such  a  fond  mother  as  Mrs.  Baynes  may  well  have  been 
out  of  humour. 

As  for  Philip,  he  was  unusually  shy  and  modest.  He  did  not 
know  in  what  light  his  friends  would  regard  his  escapade  of  the 
previous  evening.  He  had  been  sitting  at  home  all  the  morning  in 
state,  and  in  company  with  a  Polish  colonel,  who  lived  in  his  hotel, 
and  whom  Philip  had  selected  to  be  his  second  in  case  the  battle  of 
the  previous  night  sliould  have  any  suite.  He  had  left  that  colonel 
in  company  with  a  bag  of  tobacco  and  an  order  for  unlimited  beer, 
whilst  he  himself  ran  up  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  beloved.  The 
Bayneses  had  not  heard  of  the  battle  of  the  previous  night.  They 
were  full  of  the  ball,  of  Lord  Estridge's  atiability,  of  the  Golconda 
Ambassador's  diamonds,  of  the  aj)pearance  of  the  Royal  princes  who 
honoured  the  fete,  of  the  most  fashional)le  Paris  talk  in  a  word. 
Philip  was  scolded,  snubbed,  and  coldly  received  by  mamma  ;  but 
he  was  used  to  that  sort  of  treatment,  and  greatly  relieved  by  find- 
ing that  she  was  imacquainted  with  his  own  disorderly  behaviour. 
He  did  not  tell  Charlotte  about  the  quarrel :  a  knowledge  of  it 
might  alarm  the  little  maiden  ;  and  so  for  once  our  friend  was 
discreet,  and  held  his  tongue. 

But  if  he  had  any  influence  with  the  editor  of  Ga/if/nnni's 
Messenrfcr,  why  did  he  not  enti'cat  the  conductors  of  that  ailniirable 
journal  to  forego  all  mention  of  the  fracas  at  the  Eni])aspy  ball  ? 
Two  days  after  the  fete,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  there  ajjjieared  a  i)ara- 
graph  in  the  paper  narrating  the  circumstances  of  the  fight.  And 
the  guilty  Philip  found  a  copy  of  that  paper  on  the  taltle  before 
Mrs.  Baynes  and  the  General  wlion  he  came  to  the  Champs  Elys^es 
according  to  his  wont.  Behind  that  paper  sat  Major-General 
Baynes,  C.B.,  looking  confused,  and  beside  him  his  lady  frowning 
like  Rhadamanthus.     But  no  Charlotte  was  in  the  room. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

INFANDI  DOLORES 

PHILIP'S  heart  beat  very  quickly  at  seeing  this  grim  pair, 
and  the  guilty  newspaper  before  them,  on  which  Mrs. 
Baynes's  lean  right  hand  was  laid.  "  So,  sir,"  she  cried, 
"  you  still  honour  us  with  your  company :  after  distinguishing 
yourself  as  you  did  the  night  before  last.  Fighting  and  boxing 
like  a  porter  at  his  Excellency's  ball.  It's  disgusting !  I  have 
no  other  word  for  it :  disgusting ! "  And  here  I  suppose  she 
nudged  the  General,  or  gave  him  some  look  or  signal  by  which  he 
knew  he  was  to  come  into  action ;  for  Baynes  straightway  advanced 
and  delivered  his  fire.   ' 

"  Faith,  sir,  more  bub-ub-blackguard  conduct  I  never  heard  of 
in  my  life  !  That's  the  only  word  for  it :  the  only  word  for  it," 
cries  Baynes. 

"The  General  knows  what  blackguard  conduct  is,  and  yours 
is  that  conduct,  Mr.  Firmin  !  It  is  all  over  the  town  :  is  talked 
of  everywhere  :  will  be  in  all  the  newspapers.  When  his  Lordship 
heard  of  it,  he  was  furious.  Never,  never,  will  you  be  admitted 
into  the  Embassy  again,  after  disgracing  yourself  as  you  have  done," 
cries  the  lady. 

"Disgracing  yourself,  that's  the  word.  And  disgraceful  your 
conduct  was,  begad  ! "  cries  the  officer  second  in  command. 

"You  don't  know  my  provocation,"  pleaded  poor  Philip.  "As 
I  came  up  to  him  Twysden  was  boasting  that  he  had  struck  me — 
and — and  laughing  at  me." 

"  And  a  pretty  figure  you  were  to  come  to  a  ball.  Who  could 
help  laughing,  sir  1 " 

"  He  bragged  of  having  insulted  me,  and  I  lost  my  temper,  and 
struck  him  in  return.  The  thing  is  done  and  can't  be  helped," 
growled  Philip. 

"  Strike  a  little  man  before  ladies  !  Very  brave  indeed  ! "  cries 
tlie  lady. 

"  Mrs.  Baynes  !  " 

"  I  call  it  cowardly.  In  the  army  we  consider  it  cowardly  to 
quarrel  before  ladies,"  continues  Mrs.  General  B. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     401 

"  I  have  waited  at  home  for  two  days,  to  see  if  he  wanted  any 
more,"  groaned  Philip. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  After  insulting  and  knocking  a  little  man  down, 
you  want  to  murder  him  !  And  you  rail  that  the  conduct  of  a 
Christian — the  conduct  of  a  gentleman  !  " 

"  The  conduct  of  a  ruffian,  by  George !  "  says  General 
Baynes. 

"It  was  prudent  of  you  to  choose  a  very  little  man,  and  to 
have  the  ladies  within  hearing  !  "  continues  Mrs.  Baynes.  "Why, 
I  wonder  you  haven't  beaten  my  dear  children  next.  Don't  you, 
General,  wonder  he  has  not  knocked  down  our  poor  boys  ?  They 
are  quite  small.  And  it  is  evident  that  ladies  being  present  is  no 
hindrance  to  Mr.  Firmin's  boxincj-niatches." 

"  The  conduct  is  gross  and  unworthy  of  a  gentleman,"  reiterates 
the  General. 

"  You  hear  what  that  man  says — that  old  man,  who  never  says 
an  unkind  word  1  That  veteran,  who  has  been  in  twenty  battles, 
and  never  struck  a  man  before  women  yet  1  Did  you,  Charles  1 
He  has  given  you  his  opinion.  He  has  called  you  a  name  which 
I  won't  soil  my  lips  with  repeating,  but  which  you  deserve.  And 
do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I  Mill  give  my  blessed  child  to  a  man  who 

has  acte<l  as  you  have  acted,  and  been  called  a 1     Charles  ! 

General !  I  will  go  to  my  grave  rather  than  see  my  daughter  given 
up  to  such  a  man  !  " 

"Good  Heavens  !"  said  Philip,  his  knees  trembling  under  him. 
"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  intend  to  go  from  your  word, 
and " 

"  Oh !  you  threaten  about  money,  do  you  ?  Because  your 
father  was  a  cheat,  you  intend  to  try  and  make  us  suffer,  do  you  ? " 
shrieks  the  lady.  "  A  m:in  who  strikes  a  little  man  before  ladies 
will  commit  any  act  of  cowardice,  I  daresay.  And  if  you  wish  to 
beggar  my  family,  because  your  father  was  a  rogue " 

"  My  dear  !  "  intei-poses  the  General. 

"  Wasn't  he  a  rogue,  Baynes  ]  Is  there  any  denying  it  1 
Haven't  you  said  so  a  Imndred  and  a  hundred  times'?  A  nice 
family  to  marry  into  !  No,  Mr.  Firmin  !  You  may  insult  me  as 
you  please.  You  may  strike  little  men  before  ladies.  You  may 
lift  your  great  wicked  hand  against  that  poor  old  man,  in  one  of 
your  tipsy  fits  :  but  I  know  a  mother's  love,  a  mother's  duty — 
and  I  desire  that  we  see  you  no  more." 

"  Great  Powers  !  "  cries  Philip,  aghast.  "  You  don't  mean  to 
— to  separate  me  from  Charlotte,  General  ?  I  have  your  word. 
You  encouraged  me.  I  shall  break  my  heart.  I'll  go  down  on 
my  knees  to  that  fellow.     I'll — oh  ! — you  don't  mean  what  you 


402  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

say  ! "  And,  scared  and  sobbing,  the  poor  fellow  clasped  his  strong 
hands  together,  and  appealed  to  the  General. 

Baynes  was  under  his  wife's  eye.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  "  yonr 
conduct  has  been  confoundedly  bad,  disorderly,  and  ungentleman- 
like.  You  can't  support  my  child,  if  you  marry  her.  And  if  you 
have  the  least  spark  of  honour  in  you,  as  you  say  you  have,  it 
is  you,  Mr.  Firmin,  who  will  break  off  the  match,  and  release  the 
poor  child  from  certain  misery.  By  George,  sir,  how  is  a  man 
who  fights  and  quarrels  in  a  nobleman's  ball-room  to  get  on  in  the 
world  ]  How  is  a  man,  who  can't  afford  a  decent  coat  to  his  back, 
to  keep  a  wifel  The  more  I  have  known  you,  the  more  I  have 
felt  that  the  engagement  would  bring  misery  upon  my  child  !  Is 
that  what  you  wanf?  A  man  of  honour  "  {^^  Honour  !  "  in 
italics,  from  Mrs.  Baynes.)  "  Hush,  my  dear ! — A  man  of  spirit 
would  give  her  up,  sir.  What  have  you  to  offer  but  beggary,  by 
George  1     Do  you  want  my  girl  to  come  home  to  your   lodgings, 

and  mend  your  clothes'?" "I  think  I  put  that  point  pretty 

well.  Bunch  my  boy,"  said  the  General,  talking  of  the  matter 
afterwards.     "  I  hit  him  there,  sir." 

The  old  soldier  did  indeed  strike  his  adversary  there  with  a 
vital  stab.  Philip's  coat,  no  doubt,  was  ragged,  and  his  purse  but 
light.  He  had  sent  money  to  his  flxther  out  of  his  small  stock. 
There  were  one  or  two  servants  in  the  old  house  in  Parr  Street 
who  had  been  left  without  their  wages,  and  a  part  of  these  debts 
Philip  had  paid.  He  knew  his  own  violence  of  temper,  and  his 
unruly  independence.  He  thought  very  humbly  of  his  talents,  and 
often  doubted  of  his  capacity  to  get  on  in  the  world.  In  his  less 
hopeful  moods,  he  trembled  to  think  that  he  might  be  bringing 
poverty  and  unhappiness  upon  his  dearest  little  maiden,  for  whom 
he  would  joyfully  have  sacrificed  his  blood,  his  life.  Poor  Philip 
sank  back  sickening  and  fiiinting  almost  under  Baynes's  words. 

"You'll  let  me — you'll  let  me  see  her?"  he  gasped  out. 

"  She's  unwell.  She  is  in  her  bed.  She  can't  appear  to-day  !  " 
cried  the  mother. 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Baynes  !  I  must — I  must  see  her,"  Philip  said ; 
and  fairly  broke  out  in  a  sob  of  pain. 

"  This  is  the  man  that  strikes  men  before  women  ! "  said  Mrs. 
Baynes.      "  Very  courageous,  certainly  !  " 

"  By  George,  Eliza  !  "  the  General  cried  out,  starting  up,  "  it's 
too  bad " 

*'  Infirm  of  purpose,  give  me  the  daggers  !  "  Philip  yelled  out, 
whilst  describing  the  scene  to  his  biograi)her  in  after  days. 
"  Macbeth  would  never  have  done  the  murders  but  for  that  little 
quiet  woman  at  his  side.     When  the   Indian  prisoners  are  killed, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     403 

the  squaws  always  invent  the  worst  tortures.  You  should  have 
seen  that  fiend  and  her  livid  smile,  as  she  was  drilling  her  gimlets 
into  my  heart.  I  don't  know  how  I  oflfended  her.  I  tried  to  like 
her,  sir.  I  had  humbled  myself  before  her.  I  went  on  her 
errands.  I  played  cards  with  her.  I  sat  and  listened  to  her 
dreadful  stories  about  Barrackpore  and  the  Governor-General.  I 
wallowed  in  the  dust  before  her,  and  she  hated  me.  I  can  see  her 
face  now  :  her  cruel  yellow  face,  and  her  sharp  teeth  and  her  grey 
eyes.  It  was  tlie  end  of  August,  and  pouring  a  storm  that  day. 
I  suppose  my  poor  child  was  cold  and  suffering  upstairs,  for  I 
heard  the  poking  of  a  fire  in  her  little  room.  When  I  hear  a  fire 
j)oked  overhead  now — twenty  years  after — the  whole  thing  comes 
back  to  me;  and  I  suffer  over  again  that  infernal  agony.  Were  I 
to  live  a  thousand  years,  I  could  not  forgive  her.  I  never  did  her 
a  wrong,  but  I  can't  forgive  her.  Ah,  my  Heaven,  how  that 
woman  tortured  me  !  " 

"  I  think  I  know  one  or  two  similar  instances,"  said  Mr. 
Firmin's  biographer. 

"You  are  always  speaking  ill  of  women,"  said  Mr.  Firmin's 
biographer's  wife. 

"  No,  thank  Heaven  !  "  said  the  gentleman.  "  I  think  I  know 
some  of  whom  I  never  thought  or  spoke  a  word  of  evil.  My  dear, 
will  you  give  Philip  some  more  tea  1 "  and  with  this  the  gentleman's 
narrative  is  resumed. 

The  rain  Avas  beating  down  the  avenue  as  Philip  went  into  the 
street.  He  looked  up  at  Charlotte's  window  :  but  there  was  no 
sign.  There  was  a  flicker  of  a  fire  there.  The  poor  girl  had  the 
fever,  and  was  shuddering  in  her  little  room,  weeping  and  sobbing 
on  Madame  Smolensk's  shoulder.  "  Que  c'dtait  pitid  k  voir," 
Madame  said.  Her  mother  had  told  her  she  must  break  from 
Philip  ;  had  invented  and  spoken  a  hundred  calumnies  against  him  ; 
declared  tliat  he  never  cared  for  her ;  tliat  lie  had  loose  principles, 
and  was  for  ever  haunting  theatres  and  bad  company.  "  It's  not 
true,  mother,  it's  not  true  ! "  the  little  girl  had  cried,  flaming  up  in 
revolt  for  a  moment :  but  she  soon  subsided  in  tears  and  misery, 
iitterly  broken  by  tlie  thought  of  her  calamity.  Tiien  her  father 
had  been  brought  to  her,  who  ha<l  been  made  to  believe  some  of 
the  stories  against  i)Oor  Philip,  and  who  was  commanded  by  his 
wife  to  impress  them  upon  the  girl.  And  Baynes  tried  to  obey 
orders ;  but  he  was  scared  and  cruelly  pained  by  the  sight  of  his 
little  maiden's  grief  and  sufi'ering.  He  attempted  a  weak  expostula- 
tion, and  began  a  speech  or  two.  But  his  heart  failed  him.  He 
retreated  behind  his  wife.  She  never  hesitated  in  speech  or  resolu- 
tion, and   her  language   became  more   bitter   as   her   ally   faltered. 


404  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Philip  was  a  drunkard ;  Philip  was  a  prodigal ;  Philip  was  a 
frequenter  of  dissolute  haunts  and  loose  companions.  She  had  the 
best  authority  for  what  slie  said.  Was  not  a  mother  anxious  for 
the  welfare  of  her  own  child  1  ("  Begad,  you  don't  suppose  your 
own  mother  would  do  anything  that  was  not  for  your  welfare,  now"? " 
broke  in  the  General  feebly.)  "Do  you  think  if  he  had  not  been 
drunk  he  would  have  ventured  to  commit  such  an  atrocious  outrage 
as  that  at  the  Embassy  1  And  do  you  suppose  I  want  a  drunkard 
and  a  beggar  to  marry  my  daughter  1  Yoiu-  ingratitude,  Charlotte, 
is  horrible ! "  cries  mamma.  And  poor  Philip,  charged  with 
drunkenness,  had  dined  for  seventeen  sous,  with  a  carafon  of  beer, 
and  had  counted  on  a  supper  that  night  by  little  Charlotte's  side  : 
so,  while  the  child  lay  sobbing  on  her  bed,  the  mother  stood  over 
her,  and  lashed  her.  For  General  Baynes, — a  brave  man,  a  kind- 
hearted  man, — to  have  to  look  on  whilst  this  torture  was  inflicted, 
must  have  been  a  hard  duty.  He  could  not  eat  the  boarding-house 
dinner,  though  he  took  his  place  at  the  table  at  the  sound  of  the 
dismal  bell.  Madame  herself  was  not  present  at  the  meal ;  and 
you  know  poor  Charlotte's  place  was  vacant.  Her  father  went 
upstairs,  and  paused  by  her  bedroom  door,  and  listened.  He  heard 
murmurs  within,  and  Madame's  voice,  as  he  stumbled  at  the  door, 
cried  harshly,  "  Qui  est  Ik  1 "  He  entered,  Madame  was  sitting  on 
tlie  bed,  with  Charlotte's  head  on  her  lap.  Tlie  thick  brown  tresses 
were  foiling  over  the  child's  white  night-dress,  and  she  lay  almost 
motionless,  and  sobbing  freely.  "Ah,  it  is  you.  General!"  said 
Madame.  "  You  have  done  a  pretty  work,  sir  !  "  "  Mamma  says, 
won't  you  take  something,  Charlotte  dear  1 "  faltered  the  old  man. 
"  Will  you  leave  her  tranquil  1 "  said  Madame,  with  her  deep  voice. 
The  father  retreated.  When  Madame  went  out  presently  to  get 
that  i^anacea,  une  tasse  de  the,  for  her  poor  little  friend,  she  found 
the  old  gentleman  seated  on  a  portmanteau  at  his  door.  "  Is  she — 
is  she  a  little  better  now?"  he  sobbed  out.  Madame  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  and  looked  down  on  the  veteran  with  superb  scorn. 
"  Vous  n'etes  qu'un  poltron,  General ! "  she  said,  and  swept  down- 
stairs. Baynes  was  beaten  indeed.  He  was  suffering  horrible  pain. 
He  was  quite  unmanned,  and  tears  were  trickling  down  his  old 
cheeks  as  he  sat  wretchedly  there  in  the  dark.  His  wife  did  not 
leave  the  table  as  long  as  dinner  and  dessert  lasted.  She  read 
Galignani  resolutely  afterwards.  She  told  the  children  not  to 
make  a  noise,  as  their  sister  was  upstairs  with  a  bad  headache. 
But  she  revoked  that  statement  as  it  were  (as  she  revoked  at  cards 
I)resently),  by  asking  the  Miss  Bolderos  to  play  one  of  their  duets. 

I    wonder   whether    Pliilip  walked  up   and    down    before   the 
house  that  night  ?     Ah  !  it  was  a  dismal  night  for  ail  of  them :  a 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     405 

racking  pain,  a  cruel  sense  of  shame,  throbbed  under  Baynes's  cotton 
tussel ;  and  as  for  Mrs.  Baynes,  I  hoi)e  there  was  not  much  rest  or 
comfort  under  her  old  nightcap.  Madame  passed  the  greater  part 
of  the  night  in  a  great  chair  in  Chai-lotte's  bedroom,  -where  the  poor 
cliild  heard  the  hours  toll  one  after  tlie  other,  and  found  no  comfort 
in  the  dreary  rising  of  the  dawn. 

At  a  very  early  hour  of  the  dismal  rainy  morning,  what  made 
poor  little  Charlotte  fling  her  arras  round  Madame,  and  cry  out, 
"  Ah,  que  je  vous  aime  !  ah,  que  a^ous  etes  bonne,  Madame  ! "  and 
smile  almost  hai)i)ily  through  iier  tears'?  In  the  first  place,  Madame 
went  to  Charlotte's  dressing-table,  whence  slie  took  a  pair  of  si-issors. 
Then  the  little  maid  sat  up  on  her  bed,  with  her  brown  hair 
clustering  over  her  shoulders  ;  and  Madame  took  a  lock  of  it,  and 
cut  a  thick  curl ;  and  kissed  poor  little  Charlotte's  red  eyes  ;  and 
laid  her  i)ale  cheek  on  the  pillow,  and  carefully  covered  lier ;  and 
bade  her,  with  many  tender  words,  to  go  to  sleep.  "  If  you  are 
very  good,  and  will  go  to  sleep,  he  shall  have  it  in  half-an-hour," 
Madame  said.  "  And  as  I  go  downstairs,  I  will  tell  Francoise  to 
have  some  tea  ready  for  you  when  you  ring."  And  this  promise, 
and  the  thought  of  what  Madame  was  going  to  do,  comforted 
Charlotte  in  her  misery.  And  with  many  fond  fond  prayers  for 
Philip,  and  consoled  by  thinking,  "Now  she  must  have  gone  the 
greater  part  of  the  way  ;  now  she  must  be  with  him  ;  now^  he  knows 
I  will  never  never  love  any  but  him,"  she  fell  asleep  at  length  on  her 
moistened  jiillow  :  and  was  smiling  in  her  sleep,  and  I  daresay  dream- 
ing of  Philip,  when  the  noise  of  the  fall  of  a  piece  of  furniture  ro  ised 
lier,  and  she  awoke  out  of  her  dream  to  see  the  grim  old  mother, 
in  her  white  niglitcap  and  wdiite  dressing-gown,  standing  by  her  side. 

Never  mind.  "  She  has  seen  him  now.  She  has  told  him 
now,"  waa  the  child's  very  first  thought  as  her  eyes  fairly  opened. 
"  He  knows  that  I  never  never  will  think  of  any  but  him."  Slie 
felt  as  if  she  was  actually  there  in  Philip's  room,  speaking  herself 
to  him ;  murmuring  vows  which  her  fond  lips  had  whispered  many 
and  many  a  time  to  her  lover.  And  now  he  knew  she  would  never 
break  them,  she  was  consoled  and  felt  more  courage. 

"  You  have  had  some  sleep,  Charlotte  %  "  asks  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"  Yes,  I  liave  been  asleep,  mamma."  As  she  speaks,  slie  feels 
under  the  pillow  a  little  locket  containing— what  ?  I  suppose  a 
scrap  of  Mr.  Philip's  lank  hair. 

'•  I  hope  you  are  in  a  less  wicked  frame  of  mind  than  when  I 
left  you  last  niglit,"  continues  the  matron. 

"Was  I  wicked  for  loving  Phili])?  Then  I  am  wicked  still, 
mamma  !  "  cries  the  cliild,  sitting  up  in  her  bed.  And  she  clutches 
that  little  lock  of  hair  which  nestles  under  her  pillow. 


406  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  What  nonsense,  child  !  Tliis  is  what  you  get  out  of  your 
stupid  novels.  I  tell  you  he  does  not  think  about  you.  He  is  quite 
a  reckless  careless  libertine." 

"  Yes,  so  reckless  and  careless  that  we  owe  him  the  bread  we 

eat.     He  doesn't  think  of  me  !     Doesn't  he  1     Ah "     Here  she 

paused  as  a  clock  in  a  neiglibouring  chamber  began  to  strike. 
"  Now,"  she  thought,  "  he  has  got  my  message  !  "  A  smile  dawned 
over  lier  face.  She  sank  back  on  her  pillow,  turning  her  head  from 
her  mother.  She  kissed  the  locket  and  murmured  :  "  Not  think 
of  me  !  Don't  you,  don't  you,  my  dear  !  "  She  did  not  heed  the 
woman  by  her  side,  hear  her  voice,  or  for  a  moment  seem  aware  of 
her  presence.  Charlotte  was  away  in  Philip's  room ;  she  saw  him 
talking  with  her  messenger ;  heard  his  voice  so  deep  and  so  sweet ; 
knew  that  the  promises  he  had  spoken  he  never  would  break.  With 
gleaming  eyes  and  flushing  cheeks  slie  looked  at  her  mother,  her 
enemy.  She  held  her  talisman  locket  and  pressed  it  to  her  heart. 
No,  she  would  never  be  untrue  to  him  !  No,  he  would  never  never 
desert  her !  And  as  Mrs.  Baynes  looked  at  the  honest  indignation 
beaming  in  the  child's  face,  she  read  Charlotte's  revolt,  defiance, 
perhaps  victory.  The  meek  child  who  never  befoi"e  had  questioned 
an  order,  or  formed  a  wisli  which  she  would  not  sacrifice  at  her 
mother's  order,  was  now  in  arms  asserting  independence.  But  I 
should  think  mamma  is  not  going  to  give  up  the  command  after  a 
single  act  of  revolt ;  and  that  she  will  try  more  attempts  than  one 
to  cajole  or  coerce  her  rebel. 

Meanwhile  let  Fancy  leave  the  talisman  locket  nestling  on 
Charlotte's  little  lieart  (in  which  soft  shelter  methinks  it  were 
pleasant  to  linger).  Let  her  wrap  a  shawl  round  her,  and  aflix 
to  her  feet  a  pair  of  stout  goloshes ;  let  her  walk  rapidly  through 
the  muddy  Champs  Elysdes,  where,  in  this  inclement  season,  only 
a  few  policemen  and  artisans  are  to  be  found  moving.  Let  her  pay 
a  halfpenny  at  the  Pont  des  Invalides,  and  so  march  stoutly  along 
the  quays,  by  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  where  as  yet  deputies 
assemble  :  and  trudge  along  the  river  side,  until  she  reaches  Seine 
Street,  into  which,  as  you  all  know,  the  Rue  Poussin  debouches. 
This  was  the  road  brave  Madame  Smolensk  took  on  a  gusty,  rainy, 
autumn  morning,  and  on  foot,  for  five-franc  pieces  were  scarce 
with  the  good  woman.  Before  the  "  Hotel  Poussin "  (ah,  qu'on 
y  itait  Men  a  vingt  ans  I)  is  a  little  painted  wicket  which  opens, 
ringing,  and  then  there  is  the  passage,  you  know,  with  the  stair 
leading  to  the  upper  regions,  to  Monsieur  Philippe's  room,  which 
is  on  the  first  fioor,  as  is  that  of  Bouchard,  the  painter,  who  has 
his  atelier  over  the  way.  A  bad  painter  is  Bouchard,  but  a  worthy 
friend,  a  sheery  companion,  a  modest  amiable  gentleman.     And  a 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     407 

rare  good  fellow  is  Laberge  of  the  second  floor,  the  poet  from 
Carcassonne,  who  pretends  to  be  studying  law,  but  whose  heart  is 
with  the  Muses,  and  whose  talk  is  of  Victor  Hugo  and  Alfred  de 
Musset,  whose  verses  he  will  repeat  to  all  comers.  Near  Laberge 
(I  think  1  have  heard  Philip  say)  lived  Escasse,  a  Southern  man 
too — a  capitalist — a  clerk  in  a  bank,  qxioi  I — whose  apartment  was 
decorated  sumptuously  with  his  own  furniture,  who  had  Spanish 
wine  and  sausages  in  cupboards,  and  a  bag  of  dollars  for  a  friend  in 
need.  Is  Escasse  alive  still?  Philip  Firmin  wonders,  and  that  old 
Colonel,  who  lived  on  the  same  floor,  and  who  had  been  a  prisoner 
in  England?  What  wonderful  descriptions  that  Colonel  Dujarret 
had  of  les  Meess  Anglaises  and  their  singularities  of  dress  and  be- 
haviour !  Though  conquered  and  a  prisoner,  what  a  conqueror 
and  enslaver  he  was,  when  in  our  country  !  You  see,  in  his  rough 
way,  Philip  used  to  imitate  these  people  to  his  friends,  and  we 
almost  fancied  we  could  see  the  hotel  before  us.  It  was  very  clean; 
it  was  very  cheap ;  it  was  very  dark  ;  it  was  very  cheerful ; — 
capital  coffee  and  bread-and-butter  for  breakfast  for  fifteen  sous ; 
capital  bedroom  an  p'^etnier  for  thirty  francs  a  month — dinner  if 
you  would  for  I  forget  how  little,  and  a  merry  talk  round  the  pipes 
and  the  grog  afterwards — the  grog,  or  the  modest  eau  suc7-ee. 
Here  Colonel  Dujarret  recorded  his  victories  over  both  sexes. 
Here  Colonel  Tymowski  sighed  over  his  enslaved  Poland.  Tymowski 
was  the  second  who  was  to  act  for  Philip,  in  case  the  Ringwood 
Twysden  affair  should  have  come  to  any  violent  conclusion.  Here 
Laberge  bawled  poetry  to  Philip,  who  no  doubt  in  his  turn  con- 
fided to  the  young  Frenchman  his  own  hopes  and  passion.  Deep 
into  the  night  he  would  sit  talking  of  his  love,  of  her  goodness,  of 
her  beauty,  of  her  innocence,  of  her  dreadful  mother,  of  her  good 
old  father.  Que  sais-je  ?  Have  we  not  said  that  when  this  man 
had  anything  on  his  mind,  straightway  he  bellowed  forth  his  o})iniGns 
to  the  universe  ?  Philip,  away  from  his  love,  would  roar  out  her 
praises  for  hours  and  hours  to  Laberge,  until  the  candles  burned 
down,  luitil  the  hour  for  rest  was  come  and  could  be  delayed  no 
longer.  Then  he  would  hie  to  bed  Avith  a  prayer  for  her ;  and  the 
very  instant  he  awoke  begin  to  think  of  lier  and  bless  her,  and 
thank  God  for  her  love.  Poor  as  Mr.  Philij)  was,  yet  as  the 
possessor  of  health,  content,  honour,  and  that  priceless  pure  jewel 
the  girl's  love,  I  think  we  will  not  pity  him  much  ;  though,  on  the 
night  when  he  received  his  dismissal  from  Mrs.  Baynes,  he  nuist 
have  passed  an  awful  time,  to  be  sure.  Toss,  Philij),  on  your  bed 
of  pain,  and  doubt,  and  fear.  Toll,  heavy  hours,  from  night  till 
dawn.  Ah  I  'twas  a  weary  night  through  which  two  sad  young 
hearts  heard  you  tolling. 


408  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

At  a  pretty  early  hour  the  various  occupants  of  the  crib  at  the 
Rue  Poussin  used  to  appear  in  the  dingy  little  saUe-a-7nanger,  and 
partake  of  the  breakfast  there  provided.  Monsieur  Meiiou,  in  his 
shirt-sleeves,  shared  and  distributed  the  meal.  Madame  Menou, 
with  a  Madras  handkercliief  round  her  grizzling  head,  laid  down 
the  smoking  coffee  on  the  shining  oilcloth,  whilst  each  guest  helped 
himself  out  of  a  little  museum  of  napkins  to  his  own  particular 
towel.  The  room  was  small :  the  breakfost  was  not  fine :  the 
guests  who  partook  of  it  were  certainly  not  remarkable  for  the 
luxury  of  clean  linen ;  but  Philip — who  is  many  years  older  now 
than  when  lie  dwelt  in  this  hotel,  and  is  not  pinched  for  money  at 
all  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  (and  between  ourselves  has  become 
rather  a  gourmand) — declares  he  was  a  very  happy  youth  at  this 
humble  "  Hotel  Poussin,"  and  sighs  for  the  days  when  he  was 
sigliing  for  Miss  Charlotte. 

Well,  he  has  passed  a  dreadful  night  of  gloom  and  terror.  I 
doubt  that,  he  has  bored  Laberge  very  much  with  his  tears  and 
despondency.  And  now  morning  has  come,  and,  as  he  is  having 
his  breakfast  with  one  or  more  of  the  before-named  worthies,  the 
little  boy-of-all-work  enters,  grinning,  his  j'himeau  under  his  arm, 
and  cries,  "line  dame  pour  M.  Philippe  !  " 

"  Une  dame  ! "  says  the  French  colonel,  looking  up  from  his 
paper.      "  Allez,  mauvais  sujet !  " 

"  Grand  Dieu  !  what  has  happened  ? "  cries  Philip,  running  for- 
ward, as  he  recognises  Madame's  tall  figure  in  the  passage.  They 
go  up  to  liis  room,  I  suppose,  regardless  of  the  grins  and  sneers 
of  the  little  boy  witli  the  plmneau,  who  aids  the  maid-servant  to 
make  the  beds  ;  and  who  thinks  Monsieur  Philippe  has  a  very 
elderly  acquaintance. 

Philip  closes  the  door  upon  Ids  visitor,  who  looks  at  him  with 
so  much  hope,  kindness,  confidence  in  her  eyes,  that  the  poor  fellow 
is  encouraged  almost  ere  she  begins  to  speak.  "  Yes,  you  have 
reason ;  I  come  from  the  little  person,"  Madame  Smolensk  said. 
"  The  means  of  resisting  that  poor  dear  angel !  She  has  passed  a 
sad  night !  What  1  You,  too,  have  not  been  to  bed,  poor  young 
man  ! "  Indeed  Philip  had  only  thrown  himself  on  his  bed,  and 
had  kicked  there,  and  had  groaned  there,  and  had  tossed  there ; 
and  had  tried  to  read,  and,  I  daresay,  remembered  afterwards,  with 
a  strange  interest,  the  book  he  read,  and  that  other  thought  which 
was  throbbing  in  his  brain  all  the  time  whilst  he  was  reading,  and 
whilst  the  wakeful  hours  went  wearily  tolling  by. 

"  No,  in  effiect,"  says  poor  Philip,  rolling  a  dismal  cigarette ; 
"  the  night  has  not  been  too  fine.  And  she  has  suffered  too  ?  Heaven 
bless  her  !  "     And  then  Madame  Smolensk  told  how  the  little  dear 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     409 

angel  had  cried  all  the  night  long,  and  how  the  Smolensk  had  not 
succeeded  in  comforting  her,  until  she  promised  she  would  go  to 
Philip,  and  tell  him  that  his  Charlotte  would  be  his  for  ever  and 
ever ;  that  she  never  could  think  of  any  man  but  him  ;  that  he  was 
the  best,  and  the  dearest,  and  the  bravest,  and  the  truest  Philip, 
and  that  she  did  not  believe  one  word  of  those  wicked  stories  told 

against  him  by "  Hold,  Monsieur  Philii)pe,  I  suppose  Madame 

la  Gdn^rale  has  been  talking  about  you,  and  loves  you  no  more," 
cried  Madame  Smolensk.  "  We  other  M'omen  are  assassins — assas- 
sins, see  you !  But  Madame  la  Gdndrale  went  too  far  with  tlie 
little  maid.  She  is  an  obedient  little  maid,  the  dear  Miss  ! — trem- 
bling before  her  mother,  and  always  ready  to  yield — only  now  her 
spirit  is  roused :  and  she  is  yours  and  yours  only.  The  little  dear 
gentle  child  !  Ah,  how  pretty  she  was,  leaning  on  my  shoulder. 
I  held  her  there — yes,  there,  my  poor  garr^on,  and  I  cut  this  from 
her  neck,  and  brought  it  to  thee.  Come,  embrace  me.  Weep  ; 
that  does  good,  Philip.  I  love  thee  well.  Go — and  thy  little — it 
is  an  angel !  "  And  so,  in  the  hour  of  their  pain,  myriads  of  manly 
hearts  have  found  woman's  love  ready  to  soothe  their  anguish. 

Leaving  to  Philip  that  thick  curling  lock  of  brown  hair  (from  a 
head  where  now,  mayhap,  there  is  a  line  or  two  of  matron  silver), 
this  Samaritan  plods  her  way  back  to  her  own  house,  where  her 
own  cares  await  her.  But  though  the  way  is  long,  ]\Iadame's  step 
is  lighter  now,  as  she  thinks  how  Charlotte  at  the  journey's  end  is 
waiting  for  news  of  Philip ;  and  I  suppose  there  are  more  kisses 
and  embraces,  when  the  good  soul  meets  with  the  little  suft'ering 
girl,  and  tells  her  how  Philip  will  remain  for  ever  true  and  faithful ; 
and  how  true  love  must  come  to  a  happy  ending;  and  how  she, 
Smolensk,  will  do  all  in  her  power  to  aid,  comfort,  and  console  lier 
young  friends.  As  for  the  writer  of  Mr.  Pliilip's  memoirs,  you  see 
I  never  try  to  make  any  concealments.  I  have  told  you,  all  along, 
that  Charlotte  and  Philii»  are  married,  and  I  believe  they  are  ha])py. 
But  it  is  certain  tluit  tliey  suftered  dreadfully  at  tliis  time  of  their 
lives  ;  and  my  wife  says  that  Charlotte,  if  slie  alludes  to  the  period 
and  the  trial,  speaks  as  though  they  had  botli  undergone  some 
hideous  operation,  the  remembrance  of  which  for  ever  causes  a  ])ang 
to  the  memory.  So,  my  young  lady,  will  you  have  your  trial  one 
day,  to  be  borne,  pray  Heaven,  witli  a  meek  s])irit.  Ah,  how  surely 
the  turn  comes  to  all  of  us  !  Look  at  Madame  Smolensk  at  her 
luncheon-table,  this  day  after  iier  visit  to  Pliilij)  at  liis  lodging,  after 
comforting  little  Charlotte  in  her  pain.  How  brisk  she  is !  How 
good-natured  !  How  she  smiles  !  How  she  speaks  to  all  her 
company,  and  carves  for  her  guests !  You  do  not  suppose  she  has 
no  griefs  and  cares  of  her  own  ]     You  know  better.     I  daresay  she 


410  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

is  thinking  of  her  creditors ;  of  her  poverty  ;  of  that  accepted  bill 
■which  will  come  due  next  week,  and  so  forth.  The  Samaritan  who 
rescues  you,  most  likely,  has  been  robbed  and  has  bled  in  his  day, 
and  it  is  a  wounded  arm  that  bandages  yours  when  bleeding. 

If  Anatole,  the  boy  who  scoured  the  plain  at  the  "  Hotel 
Poussin,"  with  his  plumemt,  in  his  jacket-pocket,  and  his  slippers 
soled  with  scrubbing  brushes,  saw  the  embrace  between  Philip  and 
his  good  friend,  I  believe,  in  his  experience  at  that  hotel,  he  never 
witnessed  a  transaction  more  honourable,  generous,  and  blameless. 
Put  what  construction  you  will  on  the  business,  Anatole,  you  little 
imp  of  mischief !  your  mother  never  gave  you  a  kiss  more  tender 
than  that  which  Madame  Smolensk  bestowed  on  Philip — than  that 
which  she  gave  Philip — than  that  which  she  carried  back  from  him 
and  faithfully  placed  on  poor  little  Charlotte's  pale  round  cheek. 
The  world  is  full  of  love  and  pity,  I  say.  Had  there  been  less 
suffering,  there  would  have  been  less  kindness.  I,  for  one,  almost 
wish  to  be  ill  again,  so  that  the  friends  who  succoured  me  might 
once  more  come  to  my  rescue. 

To  poor  little  wounded  Charlotte  in  her  bed,  our  friend  the 
mistress  of  the  boarding-house  brought  back  inexpressible  comfort. 
Whatever  might  betide,  Philip  would  never  desert  her !  "  Think 
you  I  would  ever  have  gone  on  such  an  embassy  for  a  French 
girl,  or  interfered  between  her  and  her  parents  1 "  Madame  asked. 
"Never,  never!  But  you  and  Monsieur  Philippe  are  already 
betrothed  before  Heaven ;  and  I  should  despise  you,  Charlotte,  I 
should  despise  him,  were  either  to  draAv  back."  This  little  point 
being  settled  in  Miss  Charlotte's  mind,  I  can  fancy  she  is  immensely 
soothed  and  comforted  ;  that  hope  and  courage  settle  in  her  heart ; 
that  the  colour  conies  back  to  her  young  cheeks ;  that  she  can  come 
and  join  her  family  as  she  did  yesterday.  "  I  told  you  she  never 
cared  about  him,"  says  Mrs.  Bayues  to  her  husband.  "  Faith,  no  : 
she  can't  have  cared  for  him  much,"  says  Baynes,  with  something 
of  a  sorrow  that  his  girl  should  be  so  light-minded.  But  you  and 
I,  who  have  been  behind  the  scenes,  who  have  peeped  into  Philip's 
bedroom  and  behind  poor  Charlotte's  modest  curtains,  know  that 
the  girl  had  revolted  from  her  parents ;  and  so  children  will  if  the 
authority  exercised  over  them  is  too  tyrannical  or  unjust.  Gentle 
Charlotte,  who  scarce  ever  resisted,  was  aroused  and  in  rebellion  : 
honest  Charlotte,  who  used  to  speak  all  her  thoughts,  now  hid 
them,  and  deceived  father  and  mother  : — yes,  deceived  : — what  a 
confession  to  make  regarding  a  young  lady,  the  prima  donna  of 
our  opera !  Mrs.  Baynes  is,  as  usual,  writing  her  lengthy  scrawls 
to  sister  MacWhirter  at  Tours,  and  informs  the  Major's  lady  that 
she  has  very  great  satisfaction  in  at  last  being  able  to  announce 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     411 

"  that  that  most  imprudent  and  in  all  respects  ineligible  engagement 
between  her  Charlotte  and  a  certain  young  man,  son  of  a  bankrupt 
London  physician,  is  come  to  an  end.  Mr.  F.'s  conduct  has  been 
so  wild,  so  gross,  so  disorderly  and  tmgentlemanlike,  that  the 
General  (and  you  know,  Maria,  how  soft  and  sii'eet  a  tempered  man 
Baynes  is)  has  told  Mr.  Firmin  his  opinion  in  unmistakable  words, 
and  forbidden  him  to  continue  liis  visits.  After  seeing  him  CA'ery 
day  for  six  months,  during  which  time  she  has  accustomed  herself 
to  his  peculiarities,  and  his  often  coarse  and  odious  expressions  and 
conduct,  no  wonder  the  separation  has  been  a  shock  to  dear  Char, 
though  I  believe  the  young  man  feels  nothing  who  has  been  the 
cause  of  all  this  (jrief.  Tliat  he  cares  but  little  for  her,  has  been 
my  opinion  all  along,  though  she,  artless  child,  gave  him  her  whole 
affection.  He  has  been  accustomed  to  throw  over  women ;  and 
the  brother  of  a  young  lady  whom  Mr.  F.  had  courted  and  left 
(and  who  has  made  a  most  excellent  match  since)  showed  his 
indignation  at  Mr.  F.'s  conduct  at  the  Embassy  ball  the  otlier  night, 
on  which  the  young  man  took  advantage  of  his  greatly  superior  size 
and  strength  to  begin  a  vidgar  boxing-match,  in  which  both  parties 
were  severely  wounded.  Of  course  you  saw  the  paragraph  in 
Galignani  about  the  whole  affiiir.  I  sent  our  dresses,  but  it  did 
not  print  them,  though  our  names  appeared  as  amongst  the  company. 
Anything  more  singvdar  than  the  appearance  of  Mr.  F.  you  cannot 
well  imagine.  I  wore  my  garnets ;  Charlotte  (who  attracted  uni- 
versal admiration)  was  in  &c.  &c.  Of  course,  the  separation  has 
occasioned  her  a  good  deal  of  pain ;  for  Mr.  F.  certainly  behaved 
with  much  kindness  and  forbearance  on  a  previous  occasion.  But 
the  General  will  not  hear  of  the  continuance  of  the  connection.  He 
says  the  young  man's  conduct  has  been  too  gross  and  shameful ;  and 
when  once  roused,  you  know,  I  might  as  well  attempt  to  chain  a 
tiger  as  Baynes.  Our  poor  Char  will  suffer  no  doubt  in  consequence 
of  the  behaviour  of  this  brute,  but  she  has  ever  been  an  obedient 
cliild,  wlio  knows  how  to  honour  her  father  and  mother.  She  beam 
up  wonderfully,  though,  of  course,  the  dear  child  suffers  at  the 
parting.  1  think  if  she  were  to  go  to  you  and  MacWhirter  at 
Tours  for  a,  month  or  tioo,  she  would  be  all  the  better  for  change 
of  air,  too,  dear  Mac.  Come  and  fetch  her,  and  we  will  pay  the 
dawk.  She  would  go  to  certain  poverty  and  wretchedness  did  she 
marry  this  most  violent  and  disreputable  young  man.  The  General 
sends  regards  to  Mac,  and  I  am,"  &c. 

That  these  were  the  actual  words  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  letter  I 
cannot,  as  a  veracious  biographer,  take  upon  myself  to  say.  I 
never  saw  the  dtxnunent,  thougli  I  have  had  the  good  fortune  to 
peruse  others  from  the  same  liand.      Cliarlotte  saw  tlie  letter  some 


412  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

time  after,  upon  one  of  those  not  unfrequent  occasions,  when  a 
quaiTel  occurred  between  the  two  sisters — Mrs.  Major  and  Mrs. 
General — and  Charlotte  mentioned  the  contents  of  the  letter  to  a 
friend  of  mine  who  has  talked  to  me  about  his  affairs,  and  especi- 
ally his  love  affairs,  for  many  and  many  a  long  hour.  And  shrewd 
old  woman  as  Mrs.  Baynes  may  be,  you  may  see  how  utterly  she 
was  mistaken  in  fancying  that  her  daughter's  obedience  was  still 
secure.  Tlie  little  maid  had  left  father  and  mother,  at  first  with 
their  eager  sanction ;  her  love  had  been  given  to  Firmin  ;  and  an 
inmate — a  prisoner  if  you  will — under  her  father's  roof,  her  heart 
remained  with  Philip,  however  time  or  distance  might  separate 
them. 

And  now,  as  we  have  the  command  of  Philip's  desk,  and  are 
free  to  open  and  read  the  private  letters  which  relate  to  his  history, 
I  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which  was  penned  in  his  place 
of  exile  by  his  worthy  father,  upon  receiving  the  news  of  the 
quarrel  described  in  the  last  chapter  of  these  memoirs  : — 

AsTOR  House,  New  York  :  September  27. 

"  Dear  Philip, — I  received  the  news  in  your  last  kind  and 
affectionate  letter  with  not  unmingled  pleasure :  but  ah,  what 
pleasure  in  life  does  not  carry  its  amari  aliquid  along  with  it ! 
That  you  are  hearty,  cheerful,  and  industrious,  earning  a  small 
competence,  I  am  pleased  indeed  to  think  :  that  you  talk  about 
being  married  to  a  penniless  girl  I  can't  say  gives  me  a  very  sincere 
pleasure.  With  your  good  looks,  good  manners,  attainments,  you 
might  have  hoped  for  a  better  match  than  a  half-pay  officer's 
daughter.  But  'tis  useless  speculating  on  what  might  have  been. 
We  are  puppets  in  the  hands  of  fate,  most  of  us.  We  are  carried 
along  by  a  power  stronger  than  ourselves.  It  has  driven  me,  at 
sixty  years  of  age,  from  competence,  general  respect,  high  posi- 
tion, to  poverty  and  exile.  So  be  it !  laudo  manentem,  as  my 
delightful  old  friend  and  philosopher  teaches  me — si  celeres  quatit 

pennas you  know  the  rest.     AVhatever  our  fortune  may  be,  I 

hope  that  my  Philip  and  his  father  will  bear  it  with  the  courage  of 
gentlemen. 

"  Our  papers  have  announced  the  death  of  your  poor  mother's 
uncle.  Lord  Ringwood,  and  I  had  a  fond  lingering  hope  that  he 
might  have  left  some  token  of  remembrance  to  his  brother's  grand- 
son. He  has  not.  You  have  2^'>'ol>ain  2)ciuperiem  sine  dote.  You 
have  courage,  health,  strength,  and  talent.  I  was  in  greater  straits 
than  you  are  at  your  age.  My  fatlier  was  not  as  indulgent  as  yours, 
I  hope  and  trust,  has  been.  From  debt  and  dependence  I  worked 
myself  up  to  a  proud  position  by  my  own  efforts.     That  the  storm 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     413 

overtook  me  and  engulphed  me  afterwards,  is  true.  But  I  am  like 
tlie  merchant  of  my  favourite  poet :  I  still  hoi)e — ay,  at  sixty-three  ! 
— to  mend  my  shattered  ships,  indocilis  pmiperiem  ^)rt<i.  I  still 
hope  to  pay  back  to  my  dear  boy  that  fortune  which  ought  to  have 
been  his,  and  which  went  down  in  my  own  shipwreck.  Something 
tells  me  I  must ! — I  will  ! 

"  I  agree  with  you  that  your  escape  from  Agnes  Twysden  has 
been  a  jnece  of  good  forttme  for  yon,  and  am  much  diverted  by 
your  account  of  her  diish/  innamorato  !  Between  ourselves,  the 
fondness  of  the  Twysdens  for  money  amounted  to  meanness.  And 
tlunigh  I  always  received  Twysden  in  dear  Old  Parr  Street,  as  I 
trust  a  gentleman  should,  his  company  was  insufferably  tedious  to 
me,  and  his  vulgar  loquacity  odious.  His  son  also  was  little  to  my 
taste.  Indeed  I  was  heartily  7-elieved  when  I  found  your  connection 
with  that  family  was  over,  knowing  their  rapacity  about  money, 
and  that  it  was  your  fortune,  not  you,  they  were  anxious  to  secure 
for  Agnes. 

"You  will  be  glad  to  hear  that  I  am  in  not  inconsiderable 
practice  already.  My  reputation  as  a  physician  had  preceded  me 
to  this  country.  My  work  on  Gout  w^as  favourably  noticed  here, 
and  in  Philadelphia,  and  in  Boston,  by  the  scientific  journals  of 
those  great  cities.  People  are  more  generous  and  compassionate 
towards  misfortune  here  than  in  our  cold-liearted  island.  I  could 
mention  several  gentlemen  of  New  York  who  have  suffered  ship- 
wreck like  myself,  and  are  now  prosperous  and  respected.  I  had 
the  good  fortune  to  be  of  considerable  professional  service  to  Colonel 
J.  B.  Fogle,  of  New  York,  on  our  voyage  out ;  and  the  Colonel, 
who  is  a  leading  personage  here,  has  shown  himself  not  at  all  un- 
grateful. Those  who  fancy  that  at  New  York  people  cannot 
appreciate  and  understand  the  manners  of  a  gentleman,  arc  not  a 
lifth  viisiaken ;  and  a  man  who,  like  myself,  has  lived  with  the 
best  society  in  London,  has,  I  flatter  myself,  not  lived  in  that 
society  quite  in  vain.  The  Colonel  is  proprietor  and  editor  of  one 
of  the  most  brilliant  and  influential  journals  of  the  city.  You  know 
that  arms  and  the  toga  are  often  worn  here  by  the  same  individual, 
and 

"  I  had  actually  written  thus  far  when  I  read  in  the  Colonel's 
paper — the  New  York  Evierahl—SiW  account  of  your  battle  with 
your  cousin  at  the  Embassy  ball  !  Oh,  you  pugnacious  Philip  ! 
Well,  yoiuig  Twysden  was  very  vulgar,  very  rude  and  overbearing, 
and,  I  have  no  doubt,  deserved  the  cliastisement  you  gave  him. 
By  the  way,  the  correspondent  of  the  Emerald  makes  some  droll 
blunders  regarding  you  in  his  letter.  We  are  all  fiiir  game  for 
publicity  in  this  country,  wliere  the  press  is  free  ivith  a  vengeance ; 


414  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  your  private  affairs,  or  mine,  or  the  President's,  or  our  gracious 
Queen's,  for  tlie  matter  of  that,  are  discussed  with  a  freedom  which 
certainly  amounts  to  licence.  The  Colonel's  lady  is  passing  the 
winter  in  Paris,  where  I  should  wish  you  to  pay  your  respects  to 
her.  Her  husband  has  been  most  kind  to  me.  I  am  told  that 
Mrs.  F.  lives  in  the  very  choicest  French  society,  and  the  friendship 
of  this  family  may  be  useful  to  you  as  to  your  affectionate  father. 

"  G.  B.  F. 

"Address  as  usual,  until  you  hear  further  from  me,  as  Dr. 
Brandon,  New  York.  I  wonder  whether  Lord  Estridge  has  asked 
you  after  his  old  college  friend  ?  When  he  was  Headbury  and  at 
Trinity,  he  and  a  certain  pensioner  whom  men  used  to  nickname 
Brummell  Firmin  were  said  to  be  the  best  dressed  men  in  the 
University.  Estridge  has  advanced  to  rank,  to  honours  !  You  may 
rely  on  it,  that  he  will  have  one  of  the  very  next  vacant  garters. 
What  a  different,  what  an  unfortunate  career,  has  been  his  quon- 
dam friend's  ! — an  exile,  an  inhabitant  of  a  small  room  in  a  great 
hotel,  where  I  sit  at  a  scrambling  public  table  with  all  sorts  of 
coarse  people  !  The  way  in  which  they  bolt  their  dinner,  often 
with  a  knife,  shocks  me.  Your  remittance  was  most  welcome, 
small  as  it  was.  It  shows  my  Philip  has  a  kind  heart.  Ah  !  why, 
why  are  you  thinking  of  marriage,  who  are  so  poor  %  By  the  way, 
your  encouraging  account  of  your  circumstances  has  induced  me  to 
draw  upon  you  for  100  dollars.  The  bill  will  go  to  Europe  by  the 
packet  which  carries  this  letter,  and  has  kindly  been  cashed  for  me 
by  my  friends,  Messrs.  Plaster  and  Shinman,  of  Wall  Street,  re- 
spected bankers  of  this  city.  Leave  yoixr  card  with  Mrs.  Fogle. 
Her  husband  himself  may  be  useful  to  you  and  your  ever  attached 

"  Father." 

We  take  the  Ketv  York  Emerald  at  "  Bays's,"  and  in  it  I  had 
read  a  very  amusing  account  of  our  friend  Philip,  in  an  ingenious 
correspondence  entitled  "  Letters  from  an  Attachd,"  which  appeared 
in  that  journal.  I  even  copied  the  paragraph  to  show  to  my  wife, 
and  perhaps  to  forward  to  our  friend. 

"I  promise  you,"  wrote  the  attach^,  "the  new  country  did  not 
disgrace  the  old  at  the  British  Embassy  ball  on  Queen  Vic's  birth- 
day. Colonel  Z.  B.  Hoggins's  lady,  of  Albany,  and  the  peerless 
bride  of  Elijah  J.  Dibbs,  of  Twenty-ninth  Street  in  your  city,  were 
the  observed  of  all  observers  for  splendour,  for  elegance,  for  refined 
native  beauty.  The  Royal  Dukes  danced  with  nobody  else ;  and 
at  the  attention  of  one  of  the  Princes  to  the  lovely  Miss  Dibbs,  I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      415 

observed  his  Royal  Duchess  looked  as  black  as  thunder.  Supper 
handsome.  Back  Delmonico  to  beat  it.  Champagne  so-so.  By 
the  way,  the  young  fellow  who  writes  here  for  the  Pall  Mall 
Gazette  got  too  much  of  the  champagne  on  board — as  usual,  I  am 
told.  The  Honourable  R.  Twysden,  of  London,  was  rude  to  my 
young  chap's  partner,  or  winked  at  him  offensively,  or  trod  on  his 
toe,  or  I  don't  know  what — but  young  F.  followed  him  into  tlie 
garden ;  hit  out  at  him  ;  sent  him  flying  like  a  spread  eagle  into 
the  midst  of  an  illumination,  and  left  him  there  sprawling.  Wild 
rampageous  fellow  this  young  F.  ;  has  already  spent  his  own  for- 
tune, and  ruined  his  poor  old  father,  who  has  been  forced  to  cross 
the  water.  Old  Louis  Philipi)e  went  away  early.  He  talked  long 
with  our  Minister  about  his  travels  in  our  country.  I  was  stand- 
ing by,  but  in  course  ain't  so  ill-bred  as  to  say  what  passed  between 
them." 

In  this  way  history  is  written.  I  daresay  about  others  besides 
Philip,  in  English  papers  as  well  as  American,  have  fables  been 
narrated. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

CONTAINS  A    TUG   OF  WAR 

WHO  was  the  first  to  spread  the  report  that  Philip  was  a 
prodigal,  and  had  ruined  his  poor  confiding  father  %  I 
thought  I  knew  a  person  who  might  be  interested  in 
getting  under  any  shelter,  and  sacrificing  even  his  own  son  for  his 
own  advantage.  I  thought  I  knew  a  man  who  had  done  as  much 
already,  and  surely  might  do  so  again ;  but  my  wife  flew  into  one 
of  her  tempests  of  indignation,  when  I  hinted  something  of  this, 
clutched  her  own  children  to  her  heart,  according  to  her  maternal 
wont,  asked  me  was  there  any  power  would  cause  me  to  belie 
them  1  and  sternly  rebuked  me  for  daring  to  be  so  wicked,  heart- 
less, and  cynical.  My  dear  creature,  wrath  is  no  answer.  You  call 
me  heartless  and  cynic,  for  saying  men  are  false  and  wicked.  Have 
you  never  heard  to  what  lengtlis  some  bankrupts  will  go?  To  appease 
the  wolves  who  chase  them  in  the  winter  forest,  have  you  not  read 
how  some  travellers  will  cast  all  their  provisions  out  of  the  sledge  % 
then,  when  all  the  provisions  are  gone,  don't  you  know  that  they 
will  tbng  out  perhaps  the  sister,  perhaps  the  mother,  perhaps  the 
baby,  tiie  little  dear  tender  innocent  %  Don't  you  see  him  tumbling 
among  the  howling  pack,  and  the  wolves  gnashing,  gnawing,  crash- 
ing, gobbling  him  up  in  the  snow  %  0  horror — horror  !  My  wife 
draws  all  the  young  ones  to  her  breast  as  I  utter  these  fiendish 
remarks.  She  hugs  tliem  in  her  embrace,  and  says,  "  For  shame  !  " 
and  that  I  am  a  monster,  and  so  on.  Go  to  !  Go  down  on  your 
knees,  woman,  and  acknowledge  the  sinfulness  of  our  humankind. 
How  long  had  our  race  existed  ere  murder  and  violence  began  %  and 
how  old  was  the  world  ere  brother  slew  brother  1 

Well,  my  wife  and  I  came  to  a  compromise.  I  might  have  my 
opinion,  but  was  there  any  need  to  communicate  it  to  poor  Philip  ? 
No,  surely.  So  I  never  sent  him  the  extract  from  the  New  York 
Emerald ;  though,  of  course,  some  other  good-natured  friend  did, 
and  I  don't  think  my  magnanimous  friend  cared  much.  As  for 
supposing  that  his  own  father,  to  cover  his  own  character,  would  lie 
away  his  son's — such  a  piece  of  artifice  was  quite  beyond  Philip's 
comprehension,  who  has  been  all  his  life  slow  in  appreciating  roguery, 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      417 

or  recognising  that  there  is  meanness  and  donltlc-dealing  in  the  world. 
When  lie  once  conies  to  understand  tlie  fart  ;  wiien  lie  once  com- 
I)rehonds  that  Tartutt'e  is  a  hinnhug  and  swelling  Bufo  is  a  toady; 
then  my  friend  becomes  as  absurdly  indignant  and  mistrustful  as 
licfore  he  was  admiring  and  confiding.  All,  Pliihp  !  Tartuffe  has 
a  number  of  good  respectable  qualities:  and  Bufo,  though  an  under- 
ground odious  animal,  may  have  a  precious  jewel  in  his  head.  'Tis 
you  are  cynical.  /  see  the  good  qualities  in  these  rascals  whom 
you  spurn.  I  see.  I  shrug  my  shoulders.  I  smile  :  and  you  call 
me  cynic. 

It  was  long  liefore  Pliilii*  could  comprehend  why  Charlotte's 
mother  turned  u])on  him,  and  tried  to  force  her  daughter  to  for- 
sake him.  "  I  have  ofiended  the  old  woman  in  a  hundred  ways,"  he 
would  say.  "  My  tobacco  annoys  her ;  my  old  clothes  oliend  her  ; 
the  very  English  I  speak  is  often  Greek  to  her,  and  she  can  no 
more  construe  my  sentences  than  I  can  the  Hindostanee  jargon  she 
talks  to  her  husband  at  dinner."  "My  dear  fellow,  if  you  had  ten 
thousand  a  year  she  would  try  and  construe  your  sentences,  or 
accept  them  even  if  not  understood,"  I  would  reply.  And  some 
men,  whom  you  and  I  know  to  be  mean,  and  to  be  false,  and  to  be 
flatterers  and  parasites,  and  to  be  inexorably  hard  and  cruel  in  their 
own  private  circles,  will  surely  pull  a  long  face  to-morrow,  and  say, 
"Oh  !  the  man's  so  cynical." 

I  acquit  Baynes  of  what  ensued.  I  hold  Mrs.  B.  to  have  been 
the  criminal — tlie  stupid  criminal.  The  husband,  like  many  other 
men  extremely  brave  in  active  lif(>,  was  at  home  timid  and  irresolute. 
Of  two  heads  that  lie  side  by  side  on  the  same  pillow  for  thirty 
years,  one  must  contain  the  stronger  power,  the  more  enduring 
resolution.  Baynes,  away  from  his  wife,  was  shrewd,  courageous, 
gay  at  times ;  when  with  her  he  was  foscinated,  torpid  under  the 
power  of  this  baleful  superior  creature.  "  Ah,  when  we  were  subs 
together  in  caaij)  in  1803,  wliat  a  lively  fellow  Charley  Baynes  was  !  " 
his  comrade,  Colonel  Bunch,  would  say.  "  That  was  before  he  ever 
saw  his  wife's  yellow  face  ;  and  what  a  slave  she  has  made  of  him  !  " 

After  that  fatal  conversation  which  ensued  on  the  day  succeeding 
the  ball,  Philij)  did  not  come  to  dinner  at  Madame's  according  to 
his  custom.  Mrs.  l>aynes  told  no  family  stories,  and  Colonel  Bunch, 
who  had  no  sjiecial  liking  for  the  young  gentleman,  did  not  trouble 
himself  to  make  any  inijuiries  about  him.  One,  two,  three  days 
])assed,  and  no  Philip.  At  last  tiie  Colonel  says  to  the  General, 
with  a  .sly  look  at  Charlotte,  "  Baynes,  where  is  cm"  young  friend 
with  the  moustache'?  We  have  not  seen  Jiim  these  three  days.'' 
And  he  gives  an  arch  look  at  j)oor  Charlotte.  A  bin-ning  blush 
llanicd    lip    in    little   Cliaiiottc's  jinlc  face,   as   she   looked   at    her 


418  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

parents  and  then  at  their  old  friend.  "  Mr.  Firmin  does  not  come, 
because  papa  and  mamma  have  forbidden  him,"  says  Charlotte. 
"  I  suppose  he  only  comes  where  he  is  welcome."  And,  having 
made  this  audacious  speech,  I  suppose  the  little  maid  tossed  her 
little  head  up ;  and  wondered,  in  the  silence  which  ensued,  whether 
all  the  company  coidd  hear  her  heart  thumping. 

Madame,  from  her  central  place,  where  she  is  carving,  sees, 
from  the  looks  of  her  guests,  the  indignant  flushes  on  Charlotte's 
face,  the  confusion  on  her  father's,  the  wrath  on  Mrs.  Baynes's, 
that  some  dreadful  words  are  j^assing ;  and  in  vain  endeavours  to 
turn  the  angry  current  of  talk.  "  Un  petit  canard  delicieux, 
goutez-en,  madame  !  "  she  cries.  Honest  Colonel  Bunch  sees  the 
little  maid  with  eyes  flashing  with  anger,  and  trembling  in  every 
limb.  The  ofl'ei'ed  duck  having  fiiiled  to  create  a  diversion,  he,  too, 
tries  a  feeble  commonplace.  "  A  little  difference,  my  dear,"  he 
says,  in  an  under  voice.      "  There  will  be  such  in  the  best-regulated 

families.     Canard  sauvage  trfes  bong,  Madame,  avec "  but  he  is 

allowed  to  speak  no  more,  for — 

"  What  would  you  do,  Colonel  Bunch,"  little  Charlotte  breaks 
out  with  her  poor  little  ringing  trembling  voice — "  that  is,  if  you 
were  a  young  man,  if  another  young  man  struck  you  and  insulted 
you  V  I  say  she  utters  this  in  such  a  clear  voice,  that  Frani^oise, 
the  femme-de-chainhre,  that  Auguste,  the  footman,  that  all  the 
guests  hear,  that  all  the  knives  and  forks  stop  their  clatter. 

"  Faith,  my  dear,  I'<.1  knock  liim  down  if  I  could,"  says  Bunch  ; 
and  he  catches  hold  of  the  little  maid's  sleeve,  and  would  stop  her 
speaking  if  he  could. 

"And  that  is  what  Philip  did,"  cries  Charlotte  aloud;  "and 
mamma  has  turned  him  out  of  the  house — yes,  out  of  the  house, 
for  acting  like  a  man  of  honour  !  " 

"  Go  to  your  room  this  instant,  Miss ! "  shrieks  mamma.  As 
fur  old  Baynes,  his  stained  old  uniform  is  not  more  dingy-red  than 
his  wrinkled  face  and  his  throbbing  temples.  He  blushes  under 
his  wig,  no  doubt,  could  we  see  beneath  that  ancient  artifice. 

"  What  is  it  %  Madame  your  mother  dismisses  you  of  my 
table ']  I  will  come  with  you,  my  dear  Miss  Charlotte  ! "  says 
Madame,  with  mucli  dignity.  "  Serve  the  sugared  plate,  Auguste  ! 
My  ladies,  you  will  excuse  me !  I  go  to  attend  the  dear  Miss,  wlio 
seems  to  me  ill."  And  she  rises  up,  and  she  follows  poor  little 
blushing,  burning,  weeping  Charlotte  :  and  again,  I  have  no  doubt, 
takes  her  in  her  arms  and  kisses,  and  cheers,  and  caresses  her — at 
the  threshold  of  the  <loor — there  by  the  staircase,  among  the  cold 
dishes  of  the  dinner,  where  Moira  and  Macgrigor  had  one  moment 
before  been  marauding. 


COMFORT    IN    GRIEF. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      419 

"  Courage,  ma  fille,  couiago,  nioii  piifant  !  Tenez  !  Behold 
something  to  console  thee  ! "  and  Madame  takes  out  of  her  pocket 
a  little  letter,  and  gives  it  to  the  girl,  wlio  at  sight  of  it  kisses  the 
superscription,  and  then,  in  an  anguish  of  love,  and  joy,  and  grief, 
falls  on  the  neck  of  the  kind  woman,  who  consoles  her  in  her  misery. 
Whose  writing  is  it  Cliarlotte  kisses  ?  (Jan  you  guess  by  any 
means'?  Upon  my  word,  Madame  Smolensk,  I  never  recommend 
ladies  to  take  daughters  to  your  boarding-house.  And  I  like  you 
so  much,  I  would  not  tell  of  you,  but  you  know  the  house  is  shut 
up  this  many  a  long  day.  Oh  !  the  years  slip  away  fugacious ;  and 
tlie  gi'ass  has  grown  over  graves ;  and  many  and  many  joys  and 
sorrows  have  been  born  and  have  died  since  then  for  Chai'lotte  and 
Philip  :  but  that  grief  aches  still  in  their  bosoms  at  times ;  and 
tliat  sorrow  tlirobs  at  Charlotte's  heart  again  whenever  she  looks 
at  a  little  yellow  letter  in  her  trinket-box  :  and  she  says  to  her 
children,  "  Papa  wrote  that  to  me  before  we  were  married,  my 
dears."  There  are  scarcely  half-a-dozen  words  in  the  little  letter,  I 
believe;  and  two  of  them  are  "for  ever." 

I  could  draw  a  ground-plan  of  Madame's  house  in  the  Champs 
Elys^es  if  I  liked,  for  has  not  Philip  shown  me  the  place  and 
described  it  to  me  many  times  ?  In  front,  and  facing  the  road  and 
garden,  were  Madame's  room  and  the  salon  ;  to  the  back  was  the 
salle-k-manger ;  and  a  stair  ran  up  the  house  (where  the  dishes 
used  to  be  laid  during  dinner-time,  and  where  Moira  and  Macgrigor 
fingered  the  meats  and  puddings).  Mrs.  General  Baynes's  rooms 
were  on  the  first  floor,  looking  on  the  Champs  Elysdes,  and  into 
the  garden-court  of  the  house  below.  And  on  this  day,  as  the 
dinner  was  necessarily  short  (owing  to  ludiajipy  circumstances),  and 
the  gentlemen  were  left  alone  glumly  drinking  their  wine  or  grog, 
and  Mrs.  Baynes  had  gone  upstairs  to  her  own  aj)artment,  had 
slapped  her  boys  and  was  looking  out  of  window — was  it  not  i)n)- 
voking  that  of  all  days  in  the  world  young  Hely  should  ride  u])  to 
the  house  on  his  capering  mare,  with  his  flower  in  his  button-hole, 
with  his  little  varnished  toe-tips  just  touching  his  stirrups,  and 
after  performing  various  caracolailes  and  gambadoes  in  the  garden, 
kiss  his  yellow-kidded  hand  to  Mrs.  General  Baynes  at  the  window, 
hope  Miss  Baynes  was  quite  well,  and  ask  if  he  might  come  in  and 
take  a  cup  of  tea?  Charlotte,  lying  on  Madame's  bed  in  the  gi-ound- 
floor  room,  heard  Mr.  Hcly's  sweet  voice  asking  after  her  health, 
and  the  crunching  of  his  horse's  lioofs  on  the  gravel,  and  she  could 
even  catch  gliiii))scs  of  that  little  form  as  the  horse  caj)ere(l  aliout 
in  the  court,  though  of  course  he  could  )iot  see  her  where  she  was 
lying  on  the  bed  with  iiei'  letter  in  her  hand.  Mrs.  Baynes  at  her 
window  had  to  wag  her  witliered  head  from  the  casement,  to  groan 


420  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

out,  "  My  daugliter  is  lyiii,u  down,  ami  has  a  bad  headache,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,"  and  then  slie  must  have  had  the  mortification  to  see 
Hely  caper  off,  after  waving  her  a  genteel  adieu.  The  ladies  in  the 
front  salon,  who  assembled  after  dinner,  witnessed  the  transaction, 
and  Mrs.  Bunch,  I  daresay,  had  a  grim  pleasure  at  seeing  Eliza 
Baynes's  young  sprig  of  fashion,  of  whom  Eliza  was  for  ever  brag- 
ging, come  at  last,  and  obliged  to  ride  away,  not  bootless,  certainly 
(for  where  were  feet  more  beautifully  chausses  ?),  but  after  a  bootless 
errand. 

Meanwhile  the  gentlemen  sat  a  while  in  the  dining-room,  after 
tlie  British  custom  which  such  veterans  liked  too  well  to  give  up. 
Other  two  gentlemen  boarders  went  away,  rather  alarmed  by  that 
storm  and  outbreak  in  which  Charlotte  had  quitted  the  dinner-table, 
and  left  the  old  soldiers  together,  to  enjoy,  according  to  their  after- 
dinner  custom,  a  sober  glass  of  "  something  hot,"  as  the  saying  is. 
In  truth,  Madame's  wine  was  of  the  poorest  ;  but  what  better  could 
you  expect  for  the  money  ? 

Baynes  was  not  eager  to  be  alone  with  Bunch,  and  I  have  no 
doubt  began  to  blush  again  when  he  found  himself  tete-a-tete  with 
his  old  friend.  But  what  was  to  be  done  1  The  General  did  not 
dare  to  go  upstairs  to  his  own  quarters,  where  poor  Charlotte  was 
probably  crying,  and  her  mother  in  one  of  her  tantrums.  Then  in 
the  salon  there  were  the  ladies  of  the  boarding-house  party,  and  there 
Mrs.  Bunch  would  be  sure  to  be  at  him.  Indeed,  since  the  Bayneses 
were  launched  in  the  great  world,  Mrs.  Bunch  was  untiringly 
sarcastic  in  her  remarks  about  lords,  ladies,  attaches,  ambassadors, 
and  fine  people  in  general.  So  Baynes  sat  with  his  friend,  in  the 
tailing  evening,  in  much  silence,  dipping  his  old  nose  in  the  brandy- 
and-water. 

Little  square-faced,  red  faced,  wliisker-dyed  Colonel  Bunch  sat 
opposite  his  old  companion,  regarding  him  not  without  scorn. 
Bunch  had  a  wife.  Buncii  had  feelings.  Do  you  suppose  those 
feelings  had  not  been  worked  upon  by  that  wife  in  private 
colloquies'?  Do  you  suppose  — when  two  old  women  have  lived 
together  in  pretty  much  tiie  same  rank  of  life — if  one  suddenly 
gets  promotion,  is  carried  off  to  higher  spheres,  and  talks  of  hei' 
new  friends,  the  countesses,  duchesses,  ambassadresses,  as  of  course 
slie  will — do  you  suppose,  I  say,  that  the  unsuccessful  woman  will 
be  pleased  at  the  successful  woman's  su(;cess  1  Your  knowdedge 
of  your  own  heart,  my  dear  lady,  nuist  tell  you  the  truth  in  this 
matter.  I  don't  want  you  to  acknowledge  that  you  are  angry 
because  your  sister  has  been  staying  with  the  Duchess  of  Fitz- 
battleaxe,  but  you  are,  you  know.  You  have  made  sneering 
remarks   to   your  husband   on   the  subject,   and   such   remarks,   I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      421 

liave  no  doubt,  were  made  by  Mrs.  Colonel  Bvnich  to  her  husband, 
regarding  her  poor  friend  Mrs.  General  Baynes. 

During  this  ]iarentliesis  we  have  left  the  General  dipping  his 
nose  in  the  brandy-and-water.  He  can't  keep  it  there  for  ever. 
He  must  come  up  for  air  presently.  His  face  must  come  out  of 
the  drink,  and  sigh  over  the  table. 

"What's  this  business,  Baynes  1"  says  the  Colonel.  "What's 
tlie  matter  with  poor  Charly  % " 

"Family  affairs — differences  will  happen,"  says  the  General 

'*  I  do  hope  and  trust  nothing  has  gone  wrong  with  her  and 
young  Firmin,  Baynes?" 

The  General  does  not  like  those  fixed  eyes  staring  at  him  under 
those  bushy  eyebrows,  between  those  bushy  blackened  whiskers. 

"  Well,  then,  yes,  Biuich,  something  has  gone  wrong ;  and 
given  me  and — and  Mrs.  Baynes — a  deuced  deal  of  pain,  too. 
The  young  fellow  has  acted  like  a  blackguard,  brawling  and  fight- 
ing at  an  ambassador's  ball,  bringing  us  all  to  ridicule.  He's  not 
a  gentleman  ;  that's  the  long  and  short  of  it,  Btuu-li  ;  and  so  let's 
change  the  subject." 

"  Why,  consider  the  provocation  he  had  ! "  cries  tlie  other,  dis- 
regarding entirely  his  friend's  prayer.  "  I  heard  them  talking  about 
the  business  at  Galignani's  this  very  day.  A  fellow  swears  at 
Firmin  ;  runs  at  him ;  brags  that  he  has  pitched  him  over ;  and 
is  knocked  down  for  his  pains.  By  George  !  I  think  Firmin  was 
quite  riglit.  Were  any  man  to  do  as  much  to  me  or  you,  what 
should  we  do,  even  at  our  age  ? " 

"We  are  military  men.  I  said  I  didn't  wisli  to  talk  about  the 
subject,  Bunch,"  says  the  General  in  rather  a  lofty  manner. 

"  You  mean  that  Tom  Bunch  has  no  need  to  j)ut  his  oar  in  1 " 

"  Precisely  so,"  says  the  other  curtly. 

"  Mum's  the  word  !  Let  us  talk  about  the  dukes  and  duchesses 
at  the  ball.  I'hafs  more  in  your  line,  now,"  says  the  Colonel,  with 
rather  a  sneer. 

"  Wliat  do  you  mean  by  duchesses  and  dukes'?  What  do  you 
know  about  them,  or  what  the  deuce  do  I  care?"  asks  the  General. 

"Oh,  they  are  tabooed  too!  Hang  it,  there's  no  satisfying 
you,"  growls  the  Colonel. 

"Look  here,  Bunch,"  the  General  l)r(ike  out  :  "I  nnist  speak, 
since  you  won't  leave  me  alone.  I  am  uidiappy.  You  can  see 
tliat  well  enough.  For  two  or  three  niglits  past  I  have  had  no 
rest.  This  engagement  of  my  child  and  INIr.  Firmin  can't  come 
to  any  good.  You  see  wiiat  he  is  -an  overbearing,  ill-conditioned, 
(|narn^]some  fellow.  What  i-liance  has  ('liarly  cjf  luMUg  happy 
with  such  a  fellow  ?  " 


422  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  I  hold  my  tongue,  Baynes.  You  told  me  not  to  put  my  oar 
in,"  growls  the  Colonel. 

"  Oh,  if  that's  the  way  you  take  it,  Bunch,  of  course  there's 
no  need  for  me  to  go  on  any  more,"  cries  General  Baynes.  "  If  an 
old  friend  Avon't  give  an  old  friend  advice,  by  George,  or  help  him 
in  a  strait,  or  say  a  kind  word  when  he's  unhappy,  I  have  done. 
I  have  known  you  for  forty  years,  and  I  am  mistaken  in  you — 
that's  all." 

"  There's  no  contenting  you.  You  say,  '  Hold  your  tongue,'  and 
I  shut  my  mouth.  I  hold  my  tongue,  and  you  say,  '  Why  don't 
you  speak  1 '  Why  don't  I  ?  Because  you  won't  like  what  I  say, 
Charles  Baynes  :  and  so  what's  the  good  of  more  talking  1 " 

"  Confound  it ! "  cries  Baynes,  with  a  thump  of  his  glass  on  the 
table,  "  but  what  do  you  say  'I  " 

''  I  say,  then,  as  you  will  have  it,"  cries  the  other,  clenching  his 
fists  in  his  pockets, — "  I  say  you  are  wanting  a  pretext  for  breaking 
off  this  match,  Baynes.  I  don't  say  it  is  a  good  one,  mind ;  but 
your  word  is  passed,  and  your  honour  engaged  to  a  young  fellow  to 
whom  you  are  under  deep  obligation." 

"  What  obligation  ?  Who  has  talked  to  you  about  my  private 
affairs  ? "  cries  the  General,  reddening.  "  Has  Philip  Firmin  been 
bragging  about  his 1 " 

"  You  have  yourself,  Baynes.  When  you  arrived  here,  you  told 
me  over  and  over  again  what  the  young  fellow  had  done  :  and  you 
certainly  thought  he  acted  like  a  gentleman  then.  If  you  choose  to 
break  your  word  to  him  now " 

"  Break  my  word  !  Great  Powers,  do  you  know  what  you  are 
saying.  Bunch  1 " 

"  Yes,  and  what  you  are  doing,  Baynes." 

"  Doing  ?  and  what  ?  " 

"  A  damned  shabby  action ;  that's  what  you  are  doing,  if 
you  want  to  know.  Don't  tell  7iie.  Why,  do  you  suppose  Sarah 
— do  you  suppose  everybody  doesn't  see  what  you  are  at  ?  You 
think  you  can  get  a  better  match  for  the  girl,  and  you  and  Eliza 
are  going  to  throw  the  young  fellow  over  :  and  the  fellow  who  held 
his  hand,  and  might  have  ruined  you,  if  he  liked.  I  say  it  is  a 
cowardly  action  ! " 

"  Colonel  Bunch,  do  you  dare  to  use  such  a  word  to  me  ! "  calls 
out  the  Genei'al,  starting  to  his  feet. 

"  Dare  be  hanged  !  I  say  it's  a  shabby  action  !  "  roars  the 
other,  rising  too. 

"  Hush  !  unless  you  Avish  to  disturb  tlie  ladies  !  Of  course  you 
know  Avhat  your  expression  means.  Colonel  Buncrh  1 "  and  the 
General  drops  his  voice  and  sinks  back  to  his  chair. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     423 

"I  know  wliat  my  words  mean,  and  I  stick  to  'em,  Baynes," 
growls  the  otlier ;   "  wliich  is  more  than  y(»u  can  say  of  yours." 

"  I  am  dee'd  if  any  man  alive  shall  use  this  language  to  me," 
savs  the  General,  in  the  softest  whis|)er,  "  without  accounting  to  me 
for  it." 

"  Did  you  ever  find  me  backward,  Baynes,  at  tiiat  kind  of 
thing?"  growls  the  Colonel,  with  a  face  like  a  lobster  and  eyes 
starting  from  his  head. 

"  Very  good,  sir.  To-morrow,  at  your  earliest  convenience.  I 
shall  be  at  Galignani's  from  eleven  till  one.  With  a  fi-iend,  if 
possible. — What  is  it,  my  love?  A  game  at  whist?  Well,  no, 
thank  you  ;   I  think  I  won't  i)lay  cards  to-night." 

It  was  Mrs.  Baynes  who  entered  the  room  when  the  two 
gentlemen  were  quarrelling ;  and  the  bloodthirsty  hyj)ocrites  in- 
stantly smoothed  their  ruffled  brows  and  smiled  on  her  with 
perfect  courtesy. 

"Whist — no!  I  was  thinking  should  we  send  out  to  meet 
him  1     He  has  never  been  in  Paris." 

"Never  been  in  Paris?"  said  the  (xcncral,  jaizzled. 

"He  will  be  here  to-night,  you  know.  Madame  has  a  room 
ready  for  him." 

"  The  very  thing,  the  very  thing ! "  ciies  General  Baynes,  with 
great  glee.  And  Mrs.  Baynes,  all  unsuspicious  of  the  ((uarrel 
between  the  old  friends,  proceeds  to  inform  Colonel  Bunch  that 
Major  MacWhirter  was  expected  that  evening.  And  then  that  tough 
old  Colonel  Bunch  knew  the  cause  of  Baynes's  delight.  A  second 
was  provided  for  the  General — the  very  thing  Baynes  wanted. 

We  have  seen  how  Mrs.  Baynes,  after  taking  counsel  with  her 
General,  had  privately  sent  for  MacWhirter.  Her  plan  Avas  that 
Charlotte's  uncle  should  take  her  for  a  while  to  Tours,  and  make 
her  hear  reason.  Then  Charly's  foolish  passion  for  Philip  would 
pass  away.  Then,  if  he  dared  to  follow  her  so  far,  her  aunt  and 
uncle,  two  dragons  of  virtue  and  circumsi)ection,  Avould  watch  and 
guard  her.  Then,  if  Mrs.  Hely  was  still  of  the  same  mind,  she 
and  her  son  might  easily  take  the  post  to  Toiirs,  wiiere,  Philip 
being  absent,  young  AValsingham  might  plead  his  passion.  The 
best  part  of  the  i)lan,  perha])s,  was  the  seitaration  of  our  young 
couple.  Charlotte  would  recover.  Mrs.  liaynes  was  sure  of  that. 
The  little  girl  had  made  no  outbreak  until  that  sudden  insurrec- 
tion at  dinner  which  we  have  witnessed  :  and  her  mother,  who 
had  (loniinceicd  over  the  cliiM  all  liei-  life,  thought  she  was  still 
in  her  power.  She  did  not  know  tluit  she  hail  passed  the  bounds 
of  authority,  and  that  with  her  liehaviour  to  I'liiJip  her  child's 
allegiance  had  revolted. 


424  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Bunch  then,  from  Baynes's  look  and  expression,  perfectly  under- 
stood what  his  adversary  meant,  and  that  the  General's  second 
was  found.  His  own  he  had  in  his  eye — a  tough  little  old  army 
surgeon  of  Peninsular  and  Indian  times,  who  lived  hard  by,  who 
would  aid  as  second  and  doctor  too,  if  need  were — and  so  kill  two 
birds  with  one  stone,  as  they  say.  Tlie  Colonel  Avould  go  fortii 
that  very  instant  and  seek  for  Dr.  Martin,  and  be  hanged  to 
Baynes,  and  a  plague  on  the  whole  transaction  and  the  folly  of 
two  old  friends  burning  powder  in  such  a  quarrel.  But  he  knew 
what  a  bloodtliirsty  little  fellow  that  henpecked  silent  Baynes 
was  when  roused ;  and  as  for  liimself — a  fellow  use  that  kind 
of  language  to  me  1  By  George,  Tom  Bunch  was  not  going  to 
baulk  him  ! 

Whose  was  that  tall  figure  prowling  about  Madame's  house  in 
the  Champs  Elyse'es  when  Colonel  Bunch  issued  forth  in  quest  of 
his  friend ;  who  had  been  watched  by  the  police  and  mistaken  for 
a  suspicious  character;  who  had  been  looking  up  at  Madame's 
windows  now  that  the  evening  shades  had  fallen]  Oh,  you  goose 
of  a  Philip  !  (for  of  course,  my  dears,  you  guess  that  the  spy  was 
P.  F.,  Esq.)  yon  look  up  at  the  jiremier,  and  there  is  the  Beloved 
in  Madame's  room  on  the  ground-floor ; — in  yonder  room,  where  a 
lamp  is  burning  and  casting  a  faint  light  across  the  bars  of  the 
jalousie.  If  Philip  knew  she  was  there  he  would  be  transformed 
into  a  clematis,  and  climb  up  the  bars  of  the  window,  and  twine 
round  them  all  night.  But  you  see  he  thinks  she  is  on  the  first- 
floor  ;  and  the  glances  of  his  passionate  eyes  are  taking  aim  at  the 
wrong  windows.  And  now  Colonel  Bunch  comes  forth  in  his  stout 
strutting  way,  in  his  little  military  cape — quick  march — and  Philip 
is  startled  like  a  guilty  thing  surprised,  and  dodges  behind  a  tree 
in  the  avenue. 

The  Colonel  departed  on  his  murderous  errand.  Philip  still 
continues  to  ogle  the  window  of  his  heart  (the  wrong  window), 
defiant  of  the  policeman,  who  tells  him  to  circuler.  He  has  not 
watched  here  many  minutes  more,  ere  a  hackney-coach  drives  up 
with  portmanteaus  on  the  roof  and  a  lady  and  gentleman  within. 

You  see  Mrs.  MacWhirter  thought  she,  as  well  as  her  husband, 
might  have  a  peep  at  Paris.  As  Mac's  coach-hire  was  paid,  Mrs. 
Mac  could  aftbrd  a  little  outlay  of  money.  And  if  they  were  to 
bring  Charlotte  back — Charlotte  in  grief  and  agitation,  ])oor  child — 
a  mati'on,  an  aunt,  would  be  a  much  fitter  companion  for  her  than 
a  major,  however  gentle.  So  the  pair  of  MacWhirters  journeyed 
from  Tours — a  long  journey  it  was  before  railways  were  invented 
— and  after  four-and-twenty  hours  of  squeeze  in  the  diligence, 
presented  themselves  at  nightfall  at  Madame  Smolensk's. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     425 

The  Baynes  boys  dashed  into  the  garden  at  the  sound  of  wheels. 
"  Mamma — mamma  !  it's  Uncle  Mac  !  "  tliese  innocents  cried,  as 
they  ran  to  the  railings.  "  Uncle  Mac !  what  could  bring  him  ] 
Oh  !  they  are  going  to  send  me  to  him  !  they  are  going  to  send  me 
to  him  ! "  thought  Charlotte,  starting  on  her  bed.  And  on  this,  I 
daresay,  a  certain  locket  was  kissed  more  vehemently  than  ever. 

"I  say,  ma!"  cries  the  ingenious  Moira,  jumping  back  to  the 
house  :   "  it's  Uncle  Mae,  and  Aunt  Mac,  too  !  " 

"What?"  cries  mamma,  with  anything  Init  pleasure  in  her 
voice  ;  and  then,  turning  to  the  dining-room,  where  her  husband 
still  sat,  she  called  out,  "General !  here's  MacWhirter  and  Emily!" 

Mrs.  Baynes  gave  her  sister  a  very  grim  kiss. 

"  Dearest  Eliza,  I  thought  it  was  such  a  good  opportunity  of 
coming,  and  that  I  might  be  so  useful,  you  know  !  "  pleads  Emily. 

"  Thank  you.  How  do  you  do,  MacWhirter  ? "  says  the  grim 
G^ndrale. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Baynes  my  boy  I  " 

"  How  d'ye  do,  Emily?  Boys,  bring  your  uncle's  traps.  Didn't 
know  Emily  was  (coming,  Mac.  Hope  there's  room  for  her  !  "  sighs 
the  General,  coming  forth  from  his  parlour. 

The  Major  was  struck  by  the  sad  looks  and  pallor  of  his 
brother  in-law.  "  By  George,  Baynes,  you  look  as  yellow  as  a 
guinea.     How's  Tom  Bunch'?" 

"Come  into  this  room  along  Avith  me.  Have  some  brandy-and- 
water,  Mac  ?  Auguste !  Odevie  0  sho  ! "  calls  the  General  ;  and 
Auguste,  who  out  of  the  new-comers'  six  packages  has  daintily 
taken  one  very  small  mackintosh  cushion,  says,  "  Comment  1  encore 
du  grog,  Gi'ti^raH"  and,  shrugging  his  shoulders,  disappears  to 
procure  the  refreshment  at  his  leisure. 

The  sisters  disajjpear  to  their  embraces ;  the  brothers-in-law 
retreat  to  the  salle-h,-manger,  where  General  Baynes  has  been  sitting, 
gloomy  and  lonely,  for  half-an-hour  past,  thinking  of  his  (juarrel 
witli  his  old  comrade.  Bunch.  He  and  Bunch  have  been  chums  for 
more  than  forty  years.  They  have  been  in  action  together,  and 
honourably  mentioned  in  the  same  report.  They  have  had  a  great 
regard  for  each  other  :  and  ea<'li  knows  the  otlier  is  an  obstinate  old 
mule,  and,  in  a  <|uarrel,  will  die  rather  than  give  way.  They  have 
had  a  (lisjiute  out  of  which  tliere  is  only  one  issue.  Words  have 
]i;isse(l  which  no  man,  however  old,  by  George  !  can  brook  from 
any  friend,  however  intimate,  by  Jove !  No  wonder  Baynes  is 
grave.  His  family  is  large  :  his  means  are  small.  To-morrow  he 
may  be  under  fire  of  an  old  friend's  pistol.  In  such  an  extremity 
he  knows  how  each  will  behave.  Xo  wonder,  I  .say,  the  General  is 
solemn. 


426  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"What's  in  the  wind  now,  Baynes?"  asks  the  Major,  after  a 
little  drink  and  a  long  silence.      "  How  is  poor  little  OharT' 

"  Infernally  ill — I  mean  behaved  infernally  ill,"  says  the  General, 
biting  his  lips. 

"Bad  business  !  Bad  business  !  Poor  little  child  !  "  cries  the 
Major. 

"  Insu])ordinate  little  devil ! "  say.-^  the  pale  General,  grinding 
his  teeth.      "  We'll  see  which  shall  be  master  !  " 

"  What !  you  have  had  words  1 " 

"At  this  "table,  this  very  day.  She  sat  here  and  defied  her 
mother  and  me,  by  George  !  and  flung  out  of  the  room  like  a 
tragedy  queen.  She  must  be  tamed,  Mac,  or  my  name's  not 
Baynes." 

MacWhirter  knew  his  relative  of  old,  and  that  this  quiet  sub- 
missive man,  when  angry,  worked  up  to  a  white  heat  as  it  were. 
"Sad  affair;  hope  you'll  both  come  round,  Baynes,"  sighs  the 
Major,  trying  bootless  commonplaces  ;  and  seeing  this  last  remark 
had  no  effect,  he  bethought  him  of  recurring  to  their  mutual  friend. 
"  How's  Tom  Bunch  ? "  the  Major  asked  cheerily. 

At  this  question  Baynes  grinned  in  such  a  ghastly  way  that 
MacWhirter  eyed  him  with  wonder.  "Colonel  Bunch  is  very 
well,"  the  General  said,  in  a  dismal  voice  :  "at  least,  he  was  half- 
an-hour  ago.  He  was  sitting  there  ; "  and  he  pointed  to  an  empty 
spoon  lying  in  an  empty  beaker,  whence  the  spirit  and  water  had 
departed. 

"  What  has  been  the  matter,  Baynes  *?  "  asked  the  Major.  "  Has 
anything  happened  between  you  and  Tom  ? " 

"I  mean  that,  half-an-hour  ago,  Colonel  Bunch  used  words  to 
me  which  I'll  bear  from  no  man  alive ;  and  you  have  arrived  just 
in  the  nick  of  time,  MacWhirter,  to  take  my  message  to  him. 
Hush  !  here's  the  drink." 

"  Voici,  messieurs  !  "  Auguste  at  length  has  brought  up  a 
second  supply  of  brandy-and-water.  The  veterans  mingled  their 
jorums;  and  whilst  his  brother-in-law  spoke,  the  alarmed  Mac- 
Whirter sipped  occasionally  inteiitiisque  ova  tenebat. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

/  CHARGE   YOU,   DROP    YOUR   DAGGERS' 

GENERAL  BAYNES  began  the  story  which  you  and  I  have 
heard  at  length.  He  told  it  in  his  own  way.  He  grew 
very  angry  with  himself  whilst  defending  himself.  He  had 
to  abuse  Philip  very  fiercely,  in  order  to  excuse  his  own  act  of 
treason.  He  had  to  show  that  his  act  was  not  his  act :  that,  after 
all,  he  never  had  promised  ;  and  that,  if  he  had  promised,  Philip's 
atrocious  conduct  ought  to  absolve  him  from  any  previous  i^romise. 
I  do  not  wonder  that  the  General  was  abusive,  and  out  of  temper. 
Such  a  crime  as  he  was  committing  can't  be  performed  cheerfully 
by  a  man  who  is  habitually  gentle,  generous,  and  honest.  I  do 
not  say  that  men  cannot  cheat,  cannot  lie,  cannot  inflict  torture, 
cannot  commit  rascally  actions,  without  in  the  least  losing  their 
equanimity ;  but  these  are  men  habitually  false,  knavish,  and  cruel. 
They  are  accustomed  to  break  their  promises,  to  cheat  their  neigh- 
bours in  bargains,  and  what  not.  A  roguish  word  or  action  more 
or  less  is  of  little  matter  to  them  :  their  remorse  only  awakens  after 
detection,  and  they  don't  begin  to  repent  till  they  come  sentenced 
out  of  the  dock.  But  liere  was  an  ordinarily  just  man  withdrawing 
from  his  jtromise,  turning  his  back  on  his  benefactor,  and  justifying 
himself  to  himself  ))y  maligning  the  man  whom  he  injured.  It  is 
not  an  uncommon  event,  my  dearly  beloved  brethren  and  esteemed 
miseraV)le  sister  sinners  ;  but  you  like  to  say  a  preacher  is  "  cynical  " 
who  admits  this  sad  truth — and,  perhaps,  don't  care  to  hear  about 
the  subject  on  more  than  one  day  in  the  week. 

So,  in  order  to  make  out  some  sort  of  case  for  himself,  our  poor 
good  old  General  Baynes  chose  to  think  and  dectlare  that  Philij) 
was  so  violent,  ill-conditioned,  and  abandoned  a  fellow,  that  no 
faith  ought  to  be  kept  with  him  ;  and  that  Colonel  Bunch  had 
behaved  with  such  l)rutal  insolence  that  Baynes  must  call  him  to 
account.  As  for  tlie  fact  that  there  was  another,  a  richer,  and  a 
much  more  eligilile  suitor,  who  was  likely  to  ofler  for  his  daughter, 
Baynes  did  not  happen  to  touch  on  this  jwint  at  all  ;  preferring  to 
speak  of  Phili]>'s  lioj)eless  poverty,  disreputable  conduct,  and  gross 
and  careless  beltaviour. 


428  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Now  MacWhirter,  having,  I  suppose,  little  to  do  at  Tours,  liad 
read  Mrs.  Baynes's  letters  to  her  sister  Emily,  and  remembered 
them.  Indeed,  it  was  but  very  few  months  since  Eliza  Baynes's 
letters  had  been  full  of  praise  of  Philip,  of  his  love  for  Charlotte, 
and  of  his  noble  generosity  in  foregoing  the  great  claim  which  he 
had  upon  the  General,  his  mother's  careless  trustee.  Philip  was 
the  first  suitor  Charlotte  had  had  :  in  her  first  glow  of  pleasure, 
Charlotte's  mother  had  covered  yards  of  paper  with  compliments, 
interjections,  and  those  scratches  or  dashes  imder  her  words,  by 
which  some  ladies  are  accustomed  to  point  their  satire  or  empha- 
sise their  delight.  He  was  an  admirable  young  man — wild,  but 
generous,  handsome,  noble  !  He  had  forgiven  his  father  thousands 
and  thousands  of  pounds  which  the  Doctor  owed  him — all  his 
mother's  fortune  ;  and  he  had  acted  most  nobly  by  her  trustees — 
that  she  nuist  say,  though  poor  dear  weak  Baynes  was  one  of 
them  !  Baynes  who  was  as  simple  as  a  child.  Major  Mac  and  his 
wife  had  agreed  that  Philip's  forbearance  was  very  generous  and 
kind,  but  after  all  that  tliere  was  no  special  cause  for  rajjture  at  the 
notion  of  their  niece  marrying  a  struggling  young  fellow  without  a 
penny  in  the  world ;  and  they  had  been  not  a  little  amused  witli 
the  change  of  tone  in  Eliza's  later  letters,  when  she  began  to  go 
out  in  the  great  world,  and  to  look  coldly  upon  poor  penniless 
Firmin,  her  hero  of  a  few  months  since.  Then  Emily  remembered 
how  Eliza  had  always  been  fond  of  great  people  ;  how  her  head 
was  turned  by  going  to  a  few  parties  at  Government  House  ;  how 
absurdly  she  went  on  with  that  little  creature  Fitzrickets  (because 
he  was  an  Honourable,  forsooth)  at  Dumdum.  Eliza  was  a  good 
wife  to  Baynes ;  a  good  mother  to  the  children  ;  and  made  both 
ends  of  a  narrow  income  meet  with  surprising  dexterity  ;  but  Emily 
was  bound  to  say  of  her  sister  Eliza,  that  a  more,  &c.  &c.  &c.  And 
when  the  news  came  at  length  that  Philip  was  to  be  thrown  over- 
board, Emily  clapped  her  hands  together,  and  said  to  her  husband, 
"  Now,  Mac,  didn't  I  always  tell  you  so  1  If  she  could  get  a 
fashionable  husband  for  Charlotte,  I  knew  my  sister  would  put  the 
Doctor's  son  to  the  door ! "  That  the  poor  child  would  suffer 
considerably,  her  aunt  was  assured.  Indeed,  before  her  own  union 
with  Mac,  Emily  had  undergone  heartbreakings  and  pangs  of 
sejjaration  on  her  own  account.  The  poor  child  would  want  com- 
fort and  companionship.  .S'Ae  would  go  to  fetch  her  niece.  And 
though  the  Major  said,  "  My  dear,  you  want  to  go  to  Paris,  and 
buy  a  new  bonnet,"  Mrs.  MacWhirter  spurned  the  insinuation,  and 
came  to  Paris  from  a  mere  sense  of  duty. 

So  Baynes  poured  out  his  history  of  wrongs  to  his  brother-in- 
law,  who  marvelled  to  hear  a  man,  ordinarily  chary  of  words  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     429 

cool  of  demeanour,  so  angry  and  so  voluble.  If  he  had  done  a  bad 
action,  at  least,  after  doing  it,  Baynes  had  the  grace  to  be  very  much 
out  of  luimour.  If  I  ever,  for  my  part,  do  anything  wrong  in  my 
family,  or  to  tlieui,  I  accompany  that  action  with  a  furious  rage  and 
blustering  passion.  I  won't  have  wife  or  children  (piestion  it.  No 
(pierulous  Nathan  of  a  family  friend  (or  an  incommodious  conscience, 
may  be)  shall  come  and  lecture  me  about  my  ill-doings.  No — no. 
Out  of  the  house  with  him !  Away,  you  i)reaching  bugbear,  don't 
try  to  frighten  me !  Baynes,  I  suspect,  to  browbeat,  bidly,  and 
out-talk  the  Nathan  pleading  in  his  heart — Baynes  will  out-bawl 
that  prating  monitor,  and  thrust  that  inconvenient  preacher  out  of 
sight,  out  of  hearing,  drive  him  with  angry  words  from  the  gate. 
Ah  !  in  vain  we  expel  him  ;  and  bid  John  say,  not  at  home  !  There 
he  is  when  we  wake,  sitting  at  our  bed-foot.  We  throw  him  over- 
board for  daring  to  put  an  oar  in  our  boat.  Whose  ghastly  head  is 
that  looking  uj)  from  the  water  and  swimming  alongside  us,  row  we 
never  so  swiftly  ?  Fire  at  him.  Brain  him  with  an  oar,  one  of 
you,  and  pull  on  !  Flash  goes  the  pistol.  Surely  that  oar  has 
stove  the  old  skull  in?  See!  there  comes  the  awful  companion 
popping  up  out  of  water  again,  and  crying,  "  Remember,  remember, 
I  am  here,  I  am  here  ! "  Baynes  had  thought  to  bully  away  one 
monitor  by  the  threat  of  a  pistol,  and  here  was  another  swimming 
alongside  of  his  boat.  And  would  you  have  it  otherwise,  my  dear 
reader,  for  you,  for  me  ?  That  you  and  I  shall  commit  sins,  in  this, 
and  ensuing  years,  is  certain  ;  but  I  hope — I  hope  they  won't  be 
past  praying  for.  Here  is  Baynes,  having  just  done  a  bad  action, 
in  a  dreadfully  wicked,  murderous,  and  dissatisfied  state  of  mind. 
His  chafing,  bleeding  temper  is  one  raw ;  his  whole  soul  one  rage, 
and  wrath,  and  fevei".  Charles  Baynes,  thou  old  sinner,  I  pray 
that  Heaven  may  turn  thee  to  a  better  state  of  mind.  I  will  kneel 
down  by  thy  side,  scatter  ashes  on  my  own  bald  pate,  and  we  will 
quaver  out  I'eccavimiis  together. 

"  In  one  word,  the  yoimg  man's  conduct  has  been  so  outrageous 
and  disreputable  that  I  cant,  Mac,  as  a  father  of  a  family,  consent 
to  my  girl's  marrying  him.  Out  of  a  regard  for  her  happiness,  it 
is  my  duty  to  break  off  the  engagement,"  cries  the  General,  finish- 
ing the  story. 

"Has  he  formally  released  you  from  that  trust  business?" 
asked  the  Major. 

"Good  heavens,  Mac!"  cries  the  General,  turning  very  red. 
"  You  know  I  am  as  innocent  of  all  wrong  towaids  liin\  as  you 
are  !  " 

"  Iiuiocent — only  you  did  not  Idok  to  your  trust " 

"  I  think  ill  of  him,  sir.     I  thiidc  he  is  a  wild,  reckless,  over- 


430  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

bearing  young  fellow,"  calls  out  the  General,  very  quickly,  "who 
would  make  my  child  miserable ;  but  I  don't  think  he  is  such  a 
blackguard  as  to  come  down  on  a  retired  elderly  man  with  a  poor 
family — a  numerous  family  ;  a  man  who  has  bled  and  fought  for 
his  Sovereign  in  the  Peninsula,  and  in  India,  as  the  '  Army  List '  will 
show  you,  by  George  !  I  don't  think  Firmin  will  be  such  a  scoundrel 
as  to  come  down  on  me,  I  say ;  and  I  must  say,  MacWhirter,  I 
think  it  is  most  unhandsome  of  you  to  allude  to  it — most  unhand- 
some, by  George  !  " 

"  Why,  you  are  going  to  break  off  your  bargain  with  him  ;  why 
should  he  keep  his  compact  with  you  1 "  asks  the  gruff  Major. 

"  Because,"  shouted  the  General,  "  it  would  be  a  sin  and  a  shame 
that  an  ol<l  man  with  seven  children,  and  broken  health,  who  has 
served  in  every  place — yes,  in  the  West  and  East  Indies,  by 
George  ! — in  Canada — in  the  Peninsula,  and  at  New  Orleans  ; — 
because  he  has  been  deceived  and  humbugged  by  a  miserable 
scoundrel  of  a  doctor  into  signing  a  sham  paper,  by  George !  should 
be  ruined,  and  his  poor  children  and  wife  driven  to  beggary,  by 
Jove !  as  you  seem  to  recommend  young  Firmin  to  do,  Jack 
MacWhirter :  and  I'll  tell  you  what,  Major  MacWhirter,  I  take  it 
dee'd  unfriendly  of  you ;  and  I'll  trouble  you  not  to  put  your  oar 
into  mij  boat  and  meddle  with  mt/  affairs,  that's  all,  and  I'll  know 
who's  at  the  bottom  of  it,  by  Jove !  It's  the  grey  mare,  Mac — it's 
you're  /letter  half,  MacWhirter — it's  that  confounded,  meddling, 
sneaking,  backbiting,  domineering " 

"What  next?"  roared  the  Major.  "Ha,  ha,  ha!  Do  you 
think  I  don't  know,  Baynes,  who  has  put  you  on  doing  what  I 
have  no  hesitation  in  calling  a  most  sneaking  and  rascally  action 
— yes,  a  rascally  action,  by  George  !  I  am  not  going  to  mince 
matters !  Don't  come  your  Major-General  or  your  Mrs.  Major- 
General  over  me  !  It's  Eliza  that  has  set  you  on.  And  if  Tom 
Bunch  has  been  telling  you  that  you  have  been  breaking  from  your 
word,  and  are  acting  shabbily,  Tom  is  right :  and  you  may  get 
somebody  else  to  go  out  with  you.  General  Baynes,  for,  by  George, 
I  won't ! " 

"  Have  you  come  all  the  way  from  Tours,  Mac,  in  order  to 
insult  me  1 "  asks  the  General. 

"  I  came  to  do  you  a  friendly  turn ;  to  take  charge  of  your  poor 
girl,  upon  whom  you  are  being  very  hard,  Baynes.  And  this  is  the 
reM^ard  I  get !  Thank  you.  No  more  grog !  What  I  have  had 
is  rather  too  strong  for  me  already."  And  the  Major  looks  down 
with  an  expression  of  scorn  at  the  enii)tied  beaker,  the  idle  spoon 
before  him. 

As  the  warriors  were  quarrelling  over  their  cups,  there  came  to 


ON    HIS    WAY    TlIllOUGH    THE    WORLD     431 

them  a  noise  as  of  brawling  and  of  female  voices  without.  "  Mais, 
madame  !  "  pleads  IMadame  Smolensk,  in  her  grave  way.  "  Taisoz- 
vous,  madame ;  laissez-moi  tranquille,  s'il  vous  ])lait ! "  exclaims 
the  well-known  voice  of  Mrs.  General  Baynes,  wliich  I  own  was 
never  very  pleasant  to  me,  either  in  anger  or  good-humour.  "And 
your  Little, — who  tries  to  sleep  in  my  chamber  !  "  again  pleads  the 
mistress  of  the  boarding-house.  "  Vous  n'avez  pas  droit  d'appeler 
Mademoiselle  Baynes  petite !  "  calls  out  the  General's  lady.  And 
Baynes,  who  was  lighting  and  quarrelling  himself  just  now,  trembled 
when  he  heard  her.  His  angry  face  assumed  an  alarmed  expression. 
He  looked  for  means  of  escape.  He  appealed  for  protection  to 
MacWhirter,  whose  nose  he  had  been  ready  to  i)ull  anon.  Samson 
was  a  mighty  man,  but  he  was  a  fool  in  the  hands  of  a,  woman. 
Hercules  was  a  brave  man  and  a  strong,  but  Omphale  twisted  liim 
round  her  si)indle.  Even  so  Baynes,  who  had  fought  in  India, 
Spain,  America,  trembled  before  the  partner  of  his  bed  and  name. 

It  was  an  unlucky  afternoon.  Whilst  the  husbands  had  been 
quarrelling  in  the  dining-room  over  brandy-and-water,  the  Avives, 
the  sisters,  had  been  fighting  over  their  tea  in  the  salon.  I  don't 
know  what  the  other  boarders  were  about.  Philip  never  told  me. 
Perhaps  they  had  left  the  room  to  give  the  sisters  a  free  opportunity 
for  embraces  and  confidential  communication.  Perhajis  tliere  were 
no  lady-boarders  left.  Howbeit,  Emily  and  Eliza  had  tea ;  and 
before  that  refreshing  meal  was  concluded,  those  dear  women  were 
fighting  as  hard  as  their  husbands  in  the  adjacent  chamber. 

Eliza,  in  the  first  })lace,  was  very  angry  at  Emily's  coming 
without  invitation.  Emily,  cu  her  part,  was  angry  with  Eliza  for 
being  angry.  "I  am  sure,  Eliza,"  said  the  spirited  and  injured 
MacWhirter,  "  that  is  the  third  time  you  have  alluded  to  it  since 
we  have  been  here.  Had  you  and  all  your  family  come  to  Tours, 
Mac  and  I  would  have  made  them  welcome — children  and  all  :  an(i 
I  am  sure  yours  make  trouble  enough  in  a  house." 

"  A  private  house  is  not  like  a  boarding-house,  Ennly.  Here 
Madame  makes  us  pay  frightfully  for  extras,"  remarks  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"I  am  sorry  I  came,  Eliza.  Let  us  say  no  more  aliout  it.  I 
can't  go  away  to-night,"  says  tlie  other. 

"And  most  uid<iiid  it  is  tliat  speech  to  make,  Hmily.  Any 
more  tea  ? " 

"Most  unpleasant  to  liave  to  make  that  speech,  Eliza.  To 
travel  a  whole  day  and  night  -and  I  never  able  to  slee])  in  a 
diligence — to  hasten  to  my  sister  because  I  thought  slie  was  in 
trouble,  l)ecause  I  thought  a  sister  might  comfort  her  ;  and  to  be 
received  as  you  re — as  you  — oh,  oh,  oh— boh  !  How  stoopid  I 
am  ! "     A  handkerchief  dries  the  tears  :  a  smelling-bottle  restores 


432  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

a  little  composure.  "When  you  came  to  us  at  Dumdum,  with 
two — 0 — o  children  in  the  whooping-cough,  I  am  sure  Mac  and  I 
gave  you  a  very  different  welcome." 

The  other  was  smitten  with  remorse.  She  remembered  her 
sister's  kindness  in  former  days.  "  I  did  not  mean,  sister,  to  give 
you  pain,"  she  said.  "  But  I  am  very  unhap])y  myself,  Emily. 
My  child's  conduct  is  making  me  most  unhappy." 

"  And  very  good  reason  you  have  to  be  unhappy,  Eliza,  if 
woman  ever  had,"  says  the  other. 

"  Oh,  indeed,  yes  !  "  gasps  the  General's  lady, 

"  If  any  woman  ought  to  feel  remorse,  Eliza  Baynes,  I  am  sure 
it's  you.  Sleepless  nights  !  AVliat  was  mine  in  the  diligence,  com- 
pared to  the  nights  you  must  have  1  I  said  so  to  myself  '  I  am 
wretched,'  I  said,  '  but  what  must  she  be  ? '  " 

"  Of  course,  as  a  feeling  mother,  I  feel  that  ])oor  Charlotte  is 
unhappy,  my  dear." 

"  But  what  makes  her  so,  my  dear  T'  cries  Mrs.  MacAVhirter, 
who  presently  showed  that  she  was  mistress  of  the  whole  contro- 
versy. "  No  wonder  Charlotte  is  unhappy,  dear  love  !  Can  a  girl 
be  engaged  to  a  young  man,  a  most  interesting  young  man,  a  clever, 
accomplished,  highly-educated  young  man " 

"  What?"  cries^Mrs.  Baynes. 

"Haven't  I  your  letters?  I  have  them  all  in  my  desk.  They 
are  in  that  hall  now.  Didn't  you  tell  me  so  over  and  over  again  ; 
and  rave  about  him,  till  I  thought  you  were  in  love  with  him 
yourself  almost  1 "  cries  Mrs.  Mac. 

"  A  most  indecent  observation  ! "  cries  out  Eliza  Baynes,  in  her 
deep  awful  voice.      "  No  woman,  no  sister,  shall  say  that  to  me  !  " 

"  Shall  I  go  and  get  the  letters  ?  It  used  to  be,  '  Dear  Philip 
has  just  left  us.  Dear  Philip  has  been  more  than  a  son  to  me. 
He  is  our  preserver  ! '  Didn't  you  write  all  that  to  me  over  and 
over  again  1  And  because  you  have  foun<l  a  richer  husband  for 
Charlotte,  you  are  going  to  turn  your  preserver  out  of  doors  !  " 

"  Emily  MacWhirter,  am  I  to  sit  here  and  be  accused  of  crimes, 
uninvited,  mind — iminvited,  mind,  by  my  sister?  Is  a  general 
officer's  lady  to  be  treated  in  this  way  by  a  brevet-major's  wife  1 
Though  you  are  my  senior  in  age,  Emily,  I  am  yours  in  rank.  Out 
of  any  room  in  England,  but  this,  I  go  before  you !  And  if  you 
have  come  uninvited  all  the  way  from  Tours  to  insult  me  in  my 
own  house ■" 

"  House,  indeed  !  pretty  house  !  Everybody  else's  house  as 
well  as  yours  !  " 

"  Such  as  it  is,  I  never  asked  you  to  come  into  it,  Emily  !  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !     You  wish  me  to  go  out  in  the  night.    Mac  !  I  say  !  " 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     433 

"  Emily  !  "  cries  the  Generaless. 

"  Mac,  I  say  !  "  screams  the  Majoress,  flinging  open  the  door  of 
tlie  salon,  "  my  sister  wishes  me  to  go.      Do  you  hear  me  1 " 

"  Au  nom  de  Dieu,  madanie,  pensez  k  cette  pauvi'e  petite,  qui 
soufFre  k  cot^,"  cries  the  mis^tress  of  the  house,  ])ointing  to  her  own 
adjoining  chamber,  in  which,  we  have  said,  our  poor  little  Charlotte 
was  lying. 

"  Najjpley  jias  Madamaselle  Baynes  petite,  sivoi)lay  !  "■  booms 
out  Mrs.  Baynes's  contralto. 

"  MacWhirtcr,  I  say,  Major  MacWhirter  !  "  cries  Emily,  fling- 
ing open  the  door  of  the  dining-room  where  the  two  gentlenven  were 
knocking  their  own  heads  together.  "  MacWhirter !  My  sister 
chooses  to  insult  me,  and  say  that  a  brevet-major's  wife " 

''  By  George  !  are  you  fighting,  too? ''  asks  the  General. 

"  Baynes,  Emily  MacWhirtcr  has  insulted  me ! ''  cries  Mrs. 
Baynes. 

"It  seems  to  have  been  a  settled  thing  beforehand,"  yells  the 
General.  "  Major  MacWhirter  lias  done  the  same  thing  by  me  ! 
He  has  forgotten  that  he  is  a  gentleman,  and  that  I  am.'' 

"  He  only  insults  you  because  he  thinks  you  are  his  relative, 
and  nuist  bear  eveiything  from  him,"  says  the  General's  wife. 

''  By  George  !  I  will  not  bear  everything  from  him  ! "  shouts 
the  General.  The  two  gentlemen  and  their  two  wives  are  squab- 
bling in  the  hall.  Madame  and  the  servants  are  peering  up  from 
tlie  kitchen  regions.  I  daresay  the  boys  from  the  topmost  banisters 
are  saying  to  eacli  otlicr,  "  Row  betwe(!n  ma  and  Aunt  Mac  !  "  I 
daresay  scared  little  Charlotte,  in  her  tcm])orary  ajjartment,  is,  for 
a  while,  almost  i'orgctful  of  her  own  grief;  and  wondering  what 
(juarrd  is  agitating  her  aunt  and  mother,  her  father  and  uncle  1 
Phice  tlie  lemaining  male  and  female  boarders  about  in  the  corridors 
and  on  the  landings,  in  various  attitudes  expressive  of  interest,  of 
satiric  commentary,  wrath  at  being  disturbed  by  unseemly  domestic 
(|uarrcl : — in  what  posture  you  will.  As  for  Mi's.  Colonel  Bunch, 
^lic.  i)oor  thing,  docs  not  know  that  the  General  and  her  own 
Colonel  have  entered  on  a  mortal  quarrel.  She  imagines  the  dis- 
pute is  only  between  Mrs.  Baynes  and  her  sister  as  yet ;  and  she 
lias  known  this  pair  (juarrelling  for  a  score  of  years  past.  "  Toujours 
comme  ca,  figiiting  vous  savez,  et  puis  make  it  up  again.  Oui," 
she  explains  to  a  French  friend  on  the  landing. 

In  the  very  midst  of  this  storm  (Jolonel  Jhuich  returns,  his 
friend  and  second.  Dr.  INIartin,  on  his  arm.  He  docs  not  know  that 
two  liattlcs  have  been  fought  since  his  own  combat.  His,  we  will 
say,  was  Ligiiy.  Then  (Mine  (^hiatre-Bras,  in  which  Baynes  and 
MacWhirter   were    engaged.       Then    came    the    general    action    of 


434  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"Waterloo.  And  here  enters  Colonel  Bunch,  quite  unconscious  of 
the  great  engagements  which  have  taken  place  since  his  temporary 
retreat  in  search  of  reinforcements. 

"How  are  you,  MacWhirter '? "  cries  the  Colonel  of  the  purple 
whiskers.  "  My  friend,  Dr.  Martin  ! "  And  as  he  addresses  him 
self  to  the  General,  his  eyes  almost  start  out  of  his  head,  as  if  they 
would  shoot  themselves  into  the  breast  of  that  officer. 

"  My  dear,  hush  !  Emily  MacWhirter.  had  we  not  better  defer 
this  most  painful  dispute  1  The  whole  house  is  listening  to  us  ! " 
whispers  the  General,  in  a  rapid  low  voice.  "  Doctor — Colonel 
Bunch-7-Major  MacWhirter,  had  we  not  better  go  into  the  dining- 
room  1 " 

The  General  and  the  Doctor  go  first,  Major  MacWhirter  and 
Colonel  Bunch  pause  at  the  door.  Says  Bunch  to  MacWhirter: 
"  Major,  you  act  as  the  General's  friend  in  this  affair  1  It's  most 
awkward,  but,  by  George  !  Baynes  has  said  things  to  me  that  I 
won't  bear,  were  he  my  own  flesh  and  blood,  by  George  !  And  I 
know  him  a  deuced  deal  too  well  to  think  he  will  ever  apologise ! " 

"  He  has  said  tilings  to  me,  Bunch,  that  I  won't  bear  from  fifty 
brothers-in-law,  by  George  !  "  growls  MacWhirter. 

"  What  1     Don't  you  bring  me  any  message  from  him  1 " 

"I  tell  you,  Tom  Bunch,  I  want  to  send  a  message  to  him. 
Invite  me  to  his  house,  and  insult  me  and  Emily  when  we  come  ! 
By  George,  it  makes  my  bloori  boil  !  Insult  us  after  travelling 
twenty-four  hours  in  a  confounded  diligence,  and  say  we're  not 
invited  !     He  and  his  little  catamaran." 

"  Hush  !  "  interi)0sed  Bunch. 

"  I  say  catamaran,  sir  !  don't  tell  fiie  I  They  came  and  stayed 
with  us  four  months  at  Diundum — the  children  ill  with  the  pip, 
or  some  confounded  thing — went  to  Europe,  and  left  me  to  pay  the 
doctor's  bill ;  and  now,  by " 

Was  the  Major  going  to  invoke  George,  the  Cappadocian 
champion,  or  Olympian  Jove?  At  this  moment  a  door,  by 
which  they  stood,  opens.  You  may  remember  there  were  three 
doors,  all  on  that  landing  ;  if  you  doubt  me,  go  and  see  the  houoe 
(Avenue  de  Valmy,  Ohamjjs  Elysees,  Paris).  A  third  door 
opens,  and  a  young  lady  comes  out,  looking  very  pale  and  sad, 
and  her  hair  hanging  over  her  shoulders !— her  hair,  which  hung 
in  rich  clusters  generally,  but  I  suj»pose  tears  have  put  it  all  out 
of  curl. 

"Is  it  you.  Uncle  Mac?  1  thought  I  knew  your  voice,  and  I 
heard  Aunt  Emily's,"  says  the  little  person. 

"  Yes,  it  is  I,  Charly,"  says  Uncle  Mac.  And  he  looks  into  the 
round  face,  which  looks  so  wild  and  is  so  full  of  grief  unutterable 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     4-35 

that  Uncle  Mac  is  quite  melted,  and  takes  the  child  to  his  arms, 
and  says,  "  Wliat  is  it,  my  dear?"  And  he  quite  forgets  that  he 
proposes  to  blow  her  fiither's  brains  out  in  tlie  morning.  "  How 
liot  your  little  hands  are  !  " 

"  Uncle,  uncle ! "  she  says,  in  a  swift  febrile  whisper,  "  you're 
come  to  take  me  away,  I  know.  I  heard  you  and  pajja,  I  heard 
mamma  and  Aunt  Emily  sj)eaking  quite  loud  !  But  if  I  go — I'll 
—  I'll  never  love  any  but  him  !  " 

"  But  whom,  dear?  " 

"But  Philip,  uncle." 

"  By  George,  Char,  no  more  you  shall !  "  says  the  Major.  And 
herewith  the  poor  child,  who  had  been  sitting  up  on  her  bed  whilst 
this  quarrelling  of  sisters, — whilst  this  brawling  of  majors,  generals, 
colonels,  —  whilst  this  coming  of  hackney-coaches, — whilst  this 
arrival  and  departure  of  visitors  on  horseback, — had  been  taking 
place,  gave  a  fine  hysterical  scream,  and  fell  into  her  uncle's  arms 
laughing  and  crying  wildly. 

This  outcry,  of  course,  brought  the  gentlemen  from  their  adjacent 
room,  and  the  ladies  from  theirs. 

"What  are  you  making  a  fool  of  yourself  about?"  growls  Mrs. 
Baynes,  in  her  deepest  bark. 

"  By  George,  Eliza,  you  are  too  bad !  "  says  the  General,  quite 
white. 

"  Eliza,  you  are  a  brute  !  "  cries  Mrs.  MacWhirter. 

"  So  SHE  IS  !  "  shrieks  Mrs.  Bunch  from  the  landing-place  over- 
head, where  other  lady-boarders  were  assembled  looking  down  on 
this  awful  family  battle. 

E-iiza  Baynes  knew  she  had  gone  too  far.  Poor  Charly  was 
scarce  conscious  by  this  time,  and  wildly  screaming,  "  Never, 
never ! "  .  .  .  When,  as  I  live,  who  should  burst  into  the  premises 
but  a  young  man  with  fair  hair,  with  flaming  whiskers,  with 
flaming  eyes,  who  calls  out,  "  What  is  it  ?  I  am  here,  Charlotte, 
Charlotte'! " 

Who  is  that  young  man?  We  had  a  glimpse  of  him,  j^rowlinu 
about  the  (!hamps  Elys^es  just  now,  and  dodging  behind  a  tree 
when  Colonel  Bunch  went  out  in  search  of  his  second.  Then  the 
young  man  saw  tlie  Mac-Whirter  hackney-coach  a)i])roach  tlie  house. 
Tlien  he  waited  and  waited,  hooking  to  that  upper  window  behind 
which  we  know  his  beloved  was  nof  reposing.  Then  he  beheld 
Bunch  and  Dr.  Martin  arrive.  Then  he  passed  through  the  wicket 
into  the  garden,  and  heard  Mrs.  Mae  and  Mrs.  Baynes  fighting. 
Then  tliere  came  from  the  ]>a^sage — where,  you  see,  this  battle  was 
going  on — that  ringing  dreadful  laugh  and  scream  of  poor  Charlotte  ; 
and  Philip  Firmin  bur^t  like  a  bombshell  into  the  midst  of  the  hall 


436  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

where  the  battle  was  raging,  and  of  the   family  circle  who  were 
fighting  and  screaming. 

Here  is  a  picture  I  protest.  We  have— first,  the  boarders  on 
the  first  landing,  whither,  too,  the  Baynes  children  have  crept  in 
their  night-gowns.  Secondly,  we  have  Augusta,  Fran^oise  the 
cook,  and  the  assistant  coming  up  from  tlie  basement.  And,  third, 
we  have  Colonel  Bunch,  Dr.  Martin,  Major  MacWhirter,  with 
Charlotte  in  his  arms;  Madame,  General  B.,  Mrs.  Mac,  Mrs. 
General  B.,  all  in  tlie  passage,  when  our  friend  the  bombshell 
bursts  in  amongst  them. 

"  What  is  it  1  Charlotte,  I  am  here  ! "  cries  Philip,  with  his 
great  voice ;  at  hearing  which,  little  Char  gives  one  final  scream, 
and,  at  the  next  moment,  she  has  tainted  quite  dead— but  this 
time  slie  is  on  Pliilip's  shoulder. 

"  You  brute,  how  dare  you  do  this  1 "  asks  Mrs.  Baynes,  glaring 
at  the  young  man. 

"  It  is  i/ou  who  have  done  it,  Eliza  !  "  says  Aunt  Emily. 

"  And  so  she  has,  Mrs.  MacWliirter  ! "  calls  out  Mrs.  Colonel 
Bunch,  from  the  landing  above. 

And  Charles  Baynes  felt  he  had  acted  like  a  traitor,  and  hung 
down  his  head.  He  had  encouraged  his  daughter  to  give  her  heart 
away,  and  she  had  obeyed  him.  When  lie  saw  Philip  I  think  he 
was  glad :  so  was  the  Major,  though  Firmin,  to  be  sure,  pushed 
him  quite  roughly  up  against  the  wall. 

"  Is  this  vulgar  scandal  to  go  on  in  the  passage  before  the  whole 
house  1 "  gasped  Mrs.  Baynes. 

"Bunch  brought  me  here  to  prescribe  for  this  young  lady," 
says  little  Dr.  Martin,  in  a  very  courtly  way.  "  Madame,  will  you 
get  a  little  sal-volatile  from  Anjubeau's  in  the  Faubourg ;  and  let 
her  be  kept  very  quiet !  " 

"Come,  Monsieur  Philippe,  it  is  enough  like  that!"  cries  Madame, 
who  can't  repress  a  smile.      "  Come  to  your  chamber,  dear  little  !  " 

"Madame!"  cries  Mrs.  Baynes,  "une  mfere " 

Madame  shrugs  her  shoulders.  "Une  m^re,  une  belle  mhre, 
ma  foi  I  "  she  says.      "  Come,  mademoiselle  !  " 

There  were  only  very  few  people  in  the  boarding-house  :  if  they 
knew,  if  they  saw,  what  happened,  how  can  we  help  ourselves^ 
But  that  they  had  all  been  sitting  over  a  powder-magazine,  which 
might  have  blown  up  and  destroyed  one,  two,  three,  five  people, 
even  Pliilip  did  not  know,  until  afterwards,  when,  laughing.  Major 
MacWhirter  told  liim  how  that  meek  but  most  savage  Baynes  had 
first  challenged  Bunch,  had  then  challenged  his  brother-in-law,  and 
how  all  sorts  of  battle,  murder,  sudden  death  might  have  ensued 
had  the  quarrel  not  come  to  an  end. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     4.37 

Were  your  humble  servant  anxious  to  harrow  liis  reader's 
feelings,  or  t]is])lay  his  own  graphical  ])owers,  you  understand  that 
I  never  woi'dd  have  allowed  those  two  gallant  othcers  to  quarrel  and 
threaten  each  other's  very  noses,  without  having  the  insult  wiped 
out  in  blood.  The  Bois  de  Boulogne  is  hard  by  the  Avenue  de 
Valmj',  with  ])lenty  of  cool  fighting  ground.  The  octroi  ofHcers 
never  stop  gentlemen  going  out  at  the  neighbouring  barrier  upon 
duelling  business,  or  prevent  the  return  of  the  slain  victim  in  the 
hackney-coach  when  the  dreadful  combat  is  over.  From  my  know- 
ledge of  Mrs.  Baynes's  character,  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt  that 
she  would  have  encouraged  her  husband  to  fight ;  and,  the  General 
down,  would  have  put  pistols  into  the  hands  of  her  boys,  and 
bidden  them  carry  on  the  vendetta  ;  but  as  I  do  not,  for  my  part, 
love  to  see  brethren  at  war,  or  Moses  and  Aaron  tugging  white 
liandfids  out  of  each  other's  beards,  I  am  glad  there  is  going  to  be 
no  fight  between  the  veterans,  and  that  cither's  stout  old  breast  is 
secure  from  the  fratricidal  bullet. 

Major  MacWhirter  forgot  all  about  bullets  and  battles  when 
poor  little  Charlotte  kissed  him,  and  was  not  in  the  least  jealous 
when  he  saw  the  little  maiden  clinging  on  Philip's  arm.  He  was 
melted  at  the  sight  of  that  grief  and  innocence,  when  Mrs.  Baynes 
still  continued  to  bark  out  her  private  rage,  and  said  :  "  If  the 
General  won't  j)rotect  me  from  insult,  I  think  I  had  better  go." 

"  By  Jove,  I  think  you  had  ! "  exclaimed  MacWhirter,  to  which 
remark  the  eyes  of  the  Doctor  and  Colonel  Bunch  gleamed  an 
approval. 

"  Allons,  Monsieur  Philippe.  Enough  like  that — let  me  take 
her  to  bed  again,"  Madame  resumed.      "  Come,  dear  miss  !  " 

What  a  ])ity  that  the  bedroom  was  but  a  yard  from  where 
they  stood  !  Philip  felt  strong  enough  to  carry  his  little  Charlotte 
to  the  Tuilerics.  The  thick  brown  locks,  which  had  fallen  over 
his  shoulders,  are  lifted  away.  The  little  wounded  heart  that 
had  lain  against  his  own,  ])arts  from  him  with  a  reviving  throb. 
Madame  and  lier  mother  carry  away  little  Charlotte.  The  door  of 
the  neighbouring  chamber  closes  on  her.  The  sad  little  vision  has 
(iisap])earcd.  The  men,  quarrelling  anon  in  the  passage,  stand 
there  silent. 

"I  heard  her  voice  outside,"  said  Philij),  after  a  little  j)ause 
(with  love,  with  grief,  with  excitement,  I  supi)ose  his  head  was  in 
a  whirl).  "  I  heard  her  voice  outside,  and  I  couldn't  help 
coming  in." 

"  By  George,  I  should  think  not,  young  fellow  ! "  says  Major 
MacWhirter,  stoutly  shaking  the  young  man  by  the  hand. 

"  Hush,  hush  !  "  whispers  the  Doctor  :   "  slu;  must  be  kept  quite 


438  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

quiet.  She  has  had  quite  excitement  enough  for  to-night.  There 
must  be  no  more  scenes,  my  young  fellow." 

And  Philip  says,  when  in  this  his  agony  of  grief  and  doubt  he 
found  a  friendly  hand  put  out  to  him,  he  himself  was  so  exceedingly 
moved  that  he  was  compelled  to  fly  out  of  the  company  of  the  old 
men,  into  the  night,  wliere  the  rain  was  pouring — the  gentle  rain. 

While  Philip,  without  Madame  Smolensk's  premises,  is  saying 
Ids  tenderest  prayers,  ottering  up  his  tears,  heart-throbs,  and  most 
passionate  vows  of  love  for  little  Charlotte's  benefit,  the  warriors 
assembled  within  once  more  retreat  to  a  colloquy  in  the  salle-k- 
manger ;  and,  in  consequence  of  the  rainy  state  of  the  night,  the 
astonished  Auguste  has  to  bring  a  third  supply  of  hot  water  for 
the  four  gentlemen  attending  the  Congress.  The  Colonel,  the  Major, 
the  Doctor,  ranged  themselves  on  one  side  the  table,  defended,  as  it 
were,  by  a  line  of  armed  tumblers,  flanked  by  a  strong  brandy 
bottle  and  a  stout  earthwork,  from  an  embrasui-e  in  which  scalding 
water  could  be  discharged.  Behind  these  fortifications  the  veterans 
awaited  their  enemy,  who,  after  marching  up  and  down  the  room 
for  a  while,  takes  position  finally  in  their  front  and  prepares  to 
attack.  Tlie  General  remounts  liis  cheval  de  hataille,  but  cannot 
bring  the  animal  to  charge  as  fiercely  as  before.  Charlotte's  white 
apparition  has  come  amongst  them,  and  flung  her  fair  arms  between 
the  men  of  war.  In  vain  Baynes  tries  to  get  up  a  bluster,  and  to 
enforce  his  passion  with  by  Georges,  by  Joves,  and  words  naughtier 
still.  Tliat  weak,  meek,  quiet,  henpecked,  but  most  bloodthirsty 
old  General  found  himself  forming  his  own  minority,  and  against 
him  his  old  comrade  Bunch,  wliom  he  had  insulted  and  nose-pulled ; 
his  brother-in-law  MacWhirter,  whom  he  had  nose-pulled  and 
insulted ;  and  the  Doctor,  who  had  been  called  in  as  the  friend  of 
the  former.  As  they  faced  him,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  each  of  those 
three  acquired  fresh  courage  from  his  neiglibour.  Each,  taking  his 
aim,  deliberately  poured  his  fire  into  Baynes.  To  yield  to  such 
odds,  on  the  other  liand,  was  not  so  distasteful  to  the  veteran,  as 
to  liave  to  give  up  Ids  sword  to  any  single  adversaiy.  Before  he 
would  own  himself  in  the  wrong  to  any  individual,  he  would  eat 
that  individual's  ears  and  nose :  but  to  be  surrounded  by  three 
enemies,  and  strike  your  flag  before  sucli  odds,  was  no  disgrace ; 
and  Baynes  could  take  the  circumbendibus  way  of  apology  to  which 
some  proud  spirits  will  submit.  Thus  he  could  say  to  the  Doctor, 
"  Well,  Doctor,  perhaps  I  was  hasty  in  accusing  Bunch  of  employing 
bad  language  to  me.  A  bystander  can  see  these  things  sometimes 
when  a  principal  is  too  angry ;  and  as  you  go  against  me — well — 
there,  then,  I  ask  Bunch's  pardon."  That  business  over,  the 
MacWhirter  reconciliation  was  very  speedily  brought  about.    "  Fact 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      4.S9 

was.  was  in  a  confounded  ill-temper — very  much  disturbed  by  events 
of  the  day — didn't  mean  anything  but  this,  that,  and  so  forth."  If 
this  old  chief  had  to  eat  humble  pie,  his  brave  adversaries  were 
anxious  that  he  should  gobble  u])  his  portion  as  quickly  as  possible, 
and  turned  away  their  honest  old  heads  as  lie  swallowed  it.  One 
of  the  party  told  his  wife  of  the  quarrel  which  had  arisen,  but 
Baynes  never  did  "  I  declare,  sir,"  Philip  used  to  say,  "  had  she 
known  anything  about  the  (|uarrel  that  night,  Mrs.  Baynes  would 
h;ive  made  her  husband  turn  out  of  bed  at  midnight,  and  cliallenge 
his  old  friends  over  again  !  "  But  then  there  was  no  love  between 
Philip  and  Mrs.  Baynes,  and  in  those  whom  he  hates  he  is 
accustomed  to  see  little  good. 

Thus,  any  gentle  reader  who  expected  to  be  treated  to  an  account 
of  the  breakage  of  the  sixth  commandment  will  close  this  chapter 
disappointed.  Those  stout  old  rusty  swords  which  were  fetched  off 
their  hooks  by  the  warriors,  their  owners,  were  returned  undrawn 
to  their  flannel  cases.  Hands  M'ere  shaken  after  a  fashion — at  least 
no  blood  was  shed.  But,  though  the  words  spoken  between  the  old 
boys  were  civil  enough.  Bunch,  MacWhirter,  and  the  Doctor  could 
not  alter  their  opinion  that  Philip  had  been  hardly  used,  and  that 
the  benefactor  of  his  family  merited  a  better  treatment  from  General 
Baynes 

Meanwhile,  that  benefactor  strode  home  through  the  rain  in  a 
state  of  })erfect  rai)ture  The  rain  refreshed  him,  as  did  his  own 
tears.  The  dearest  little  maiden  had  sunk  for  a  moment  on  his 
heart,  and,  as  she  lay  there,  a  thrill  of  hope  vibrated  through  his 
whole  frame.  Her  father's  old  friends  had  held  out  a  hand  to  him, 
and  bid  him  not  despair.  Blow  Mind,  fall  autumn  rains  !  In  the 
midnight,  under  the  gusty  trees,  amidst  which  the  lamps  of  the 
n'verberes  are  tossing,  the  young  fellow  strides  back  to  his  lodgings. 
He  is  poor  and  unhappy,  but  he  has  Hope  along  with  him.  He 
looks  at  a  certain  breast-button  of  his  old  coat  ere  he  takes  it  oft'  to 
sleep.  "Her  cheek  was  lying  there,"  he  thinks — "just  there." 
My  poor  little  Charlotte  !  what  could  she  have  done  to  the  breast- 
button  of  the  old  coat  '\ 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

IN  IVmCH  MRS.  MACIVHIRTER  HAS  A  NEW  BONNET 

NOW  though  the  unhappy  Philip  slept  quite  soundly,  so  that 
his  boots,  those  tramp-woni  sentries,  remained  en  faction 
at  his  door  until  quite  a  late  hour  next  morning ;  and  though 
little  Charlotte,  after  a  prayer  or  two,  sank  into  the  sweetest  and 
most  refreshing  girlish  slumber,  Charlotte's  father  and  mother  had 
a  bad  night ;  and,  for  my  part,  I  maintain  that  they  did  not  deserve 
a  good  one.  It  was  very  well  for  Mrs.  Baynes  to  declare  that  it 
was  MacWhirter's  snoring  which  kept  them  awake  (Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mac  being  lodged  in  the  bedroom  over  their  relatives) — I  don't  say 
a  snoring  neighbour  is  pleasant — but  what  a  bedfellow  is  a  bad 
conscience  !  Under  Mrs.  Baynes's  night-cap  the  grim  eyes  lie  open 
all  night ;  on  Baynes's  pillow  is  a  silent  wakeful  head  that  hears 
the  hours  toll.  "  A  plague  upon  the  young  man  ! "  thinks  the 
female  bonnet  de  nuit ;  "  how  (lare  he  come  in  and  disturb  every- 
thing 1  How  pale  Charlotte  will  look  to-morrow  when  Mrs.  Hely 
calls  with  her  son  !  When  she  has  been  crying  she  looks  hideous, 
and  her  eyelids  and  nose  are  quite  red.  She  may  fly  out  and  say 
something  wicked  and  absurd,  as  she  did  to-day.  I  wish  I  had 
never  seen  that  insolent  young  man,  with  his  carroty  beard  and 
vulgar  blucher  boots  !  If  my  boys  were  grown  up,  he  should  not 
come  hectoring  about  the  house  as  he  does  ;  theij  would  soon  find 
a  way  of  punisliing  his  impudence  !  "  Baulked  revenge  and  a  hungry 
disappointment,  I  tliink,  are  keeping  that  old  woman  awake ;  and, 
if  she  hears  the  hours  tolling,  it  is  because  wicked  thoughts  make 
her  sleepless. 

As  for  Baynes,  I  believe  that  old  man  is  awake,  because  he  is 
awake  to  the  shabbiness  of  his  own  conduct.  His  conscience  has 
got  the  better  of  him,  which  he  has  been  trying  to  bully  out  of  doors. 
Do  what  he  will,  that  reflection  forces  itself  upon  him.  Mac, 
Bunch,  and  the  Doctor  all  saw  the  thing  at  once,  and  went  dead 
against  him.  He  wanted  to  break  his  word  to  a  young  fellow,  who, 
whatever  his  faults  might  be,  had  acted  most  nobly  and  generously 
by  the  Baynes  family.  He  might  have  been  ruined  but  for  Philip's 
forbearance  ;  and  showed  his  gratitude  by  brenking  his  promise  to  the 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      441 

young  fellow.  He  was  a  henpecked  man — that  was  the  faet.  He 
allowed  his  wife  to  govern  him  :  that  little  old  plain  cantankerous 
woman  asleep  yonder.  Asleep  was  she  ?  No.  He  knew  she 
wasn't.  Both  were  lying  quite  still,  wide  awake,  pursuing  their 
dismal  thoughts.  Only  Charles  was  owning  that  he  was  a  sinner, 
whilst  Eliza  his  wife,  in  a  rage  at  her  last  defeat,  was  meditating 
how  she  could  continue  and  still  win  her  battle. 

Then  Baynes  retlocts  how  persevering  his  wife  is ;  how,  all 
through  life,  she  has  come  back  and  back  and  back  to  her  point, 
until  he  has  ended  by  an  almost  utter  subjugation.  He  will  resist 
for  a  day  :  she  will  light  for  a  year,  for  a  life.  If  once  she  hates 
l)eoj)le,  the  sentiment  always  remains  with  her  fresh  and  lively. 
Her  jealousy  never  dies  ;  nor  her  desire  to  rule.  What  a  life  she 
will  lead  poor  Charlotte  now  she  has  declared  against  Philip. 
The  poor  child  will  l)e  subject  to  a  dreadful  tyranny :  the  father 
knows  it.  As  soon  as  he  leaves  the  house  on  his  daily  Avalks  the 
girl's  torture  will  begin.  Baynes  knows  how  his  wife  can  torture 
a  woman.  As  she  groans  out  a  hollow  cough  from  her  bed  in 
the  midnight,  the  guilty  man  lies  quite  nuim  under  his  own 
counterpane.  If  she  fancies  him  awake,  it  Avill  be  his  turn  to 
receive  the  torture.  Ah,  Othello,  mon  ami  I  when  you  look 
round  at  married  life,  and  know  what  you  know,  don't  you  wonder 
that  the  bolster  is  not  used  a  great  deal  more  freely  on  both  sides  ? 
Horrible  cynicism  !  Yes — I  know.  These  i)ropositions  served 
raw  are  savage,  and  shock  your  sensibility  ;  cooked  with  a  little 
I)i(iuant  sauce,  they  are  welcome  at  quite  i)olite  tables. 

"  Poor  child  !  Yes,  by  George  !  What  a  life  her  naother  will 
lead  her ! "  thinks  the  General,  rolling  uneasy  on  the  midnight 
pillow.  "  No  rest  for  her,  day  or  nigiit,  until  she  marries  the  man 
of  her  mother's  choosing.  And  she  has  a  delicate  chest — Martin 
says  she  has  ;  and  she  wants  coaxing  and  soothing,  and  pretty 
coaxing  she  will  have  from  mannna  I "  Then,  I  daresay,  the  past 
rises  u])  in  that  wakeful  old  man's  uncomfortable  memory.  His 
little  Charlotte  is  a  child  again,  laughing  on  his  knee,  and  i)laying 
with  his  accoutrements  as  he  comes  home  from  parade.  He  re- 
members the  fever  which  she  ha<l,  when  she  would  take  medicine 
from  no  other  hand  ;  and  how,  though  silent  with  her  mother, 
with  him  she  would  never  tire  of  prattling,  ])rattling.  Guilt- 
stricken  old  man  !  are  those  tears  trickling  down  thy  old  nose  ? 
It  is  midnight.  We  cannot  see.  Wlicii  you  brought  her  to  the 
river,  and  parted  with  her  to  send  licr  to  Europe,  how  the  little 
maid  clung  to  you,  ami  cried,  '•  i'a])a,  ])ai)a !  "  Staggering  up  the 
steps  of  tiie  ghaut,  how  you  wcjit  your.self — yes,  wept  tears  of 
passionate  tender  grief  at    parting  witli    the   dnrling  of  your  soul. 


442  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

And  now,  deliberately,  and  for  the  sake  of  money,  you  stab  her 
to  the  heart,  and  break  your  plighted  honour  to  your  child.  "And 
it  is  yonder  cruel,  shrivelled,  bilious,  plain  old  woman  who  makes 
me  do  all  this,  and  trample  on  my  darling  and  torture  her  ! "  he 
thinks.  In  Zoffany's  famous  picture  of  Garrick  and  Mrs.  Pritchard 
as  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  Macbeth  stands  in  an  attitude 
hideously  contoi'ted  and  constrained,  while  Lady  Mac  is  firm  and 
easy.  Was  this  the  actor's  art,  or  the  poet's  device '?  Baynes  is 
wretched,  then.  He  is  wrung  with  remorse,  and  shame  and  pity. 
Well,  I  am  glad  of  it.  Old  man,  old  man  !  how  darest  thou  to 
cause  that  child's  tender  little  bosom  to  bleed?  How  bilious  he 
looks  tlie  ne.xt  morning !  I  declare  as  yellow  as  his  grim  old  wife. 
When  Mrs.  General  B.  hears  the  children  their  lessons,  how  she 
will  scold  them !  It  is  my  belief  she  will  bark  through  the 
morning  chapter,  and  scarce  understand  a  word  of  its  meaning. 
As  for  Charlotte,  when  she  appears  with  red  eyes,  and  ever  so 
little  colour  in  her  round  cheek,  there  is  that  in  her  look  and 
demeanour  which  warns  her  mother  to  refrain  from  too  familiar 
abuse  or  scolding  The  girl  is  in  rebellion  All  day  Char  was  in 
a  feverish  state,  her  eyes  flashing  war  There  was  a  song  which 
Philip  loved  in  those  days  :  the  song  of  Ruth  Char  sat  down  to 
the  piano,  and  sang  it  with  a  strange  energy.  ''  Thy  people  shall 
be  my  people"'" — she  sang  with  all  her  heart — '-and  thy  God  my 
God  !  "  The  slave  had  risen.  The  little  heart  was  in  arms  and 
mutiny.     The  mother  was  scared  by  her  defiance. 

As  for  the  guilty  old  father :  pursued  by  the  fiend  remorse,  he 
fled  early  from  his  house,  and  read  all  the  papers  at  Galignanis 
without  comprehending  them.  Madly  regardless  of  expense,  he 
then  plunged  into  one  of  tho.se  luxurious  restaurants  in  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  you  get  soup,  three  dishes,  a  sweet,  and  a  pint  of 
delicious  wine  for  two  frongs,  by  George  !  But  all  the  luxuries 
there  presented  to  him  could  not  drive  away  care,  or  create  appetite 
Then  the  poor  old  wretcli  went  ofl",  and  saw  a  ballet  at  the 
Grand  Opera.  In  vain.  The  pink  nymphs  had  not  the  slightest 
fascination  for  him.  He  hardly  was  aware  of  their  ogles,  bounds, 
and  capers.  He  saw  a  little  mai<l  with  round  sad  eyes — his 
Iphigenia  whom  he  was  stabbing.  He  took  more  brandy-and 
water  at  cafds  on  his  way  home.  In  vain,  in  vain,  I  tell  you  ! 
The  old  wife  was  sitting  up  for  him,  scared  at  the  unusual  absence 
of  her  lord.  She  dared  not  remonstrate  with  him  when  he  returned. 
His  face  w^as  pale.  His  eyes  were  fierce  and  bloodshot.  AVhen 
the  General  had  a  particular  look,  Eliza  Baynes  cowered  in 
silence.  Mac,  the  two  sisters,  and,  I  think,  Colonel  Bunch  (but 
on  this  point  my  informant,  Philip,  cannot  be  sure)  were  having  a 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     44.3 

dreary  rubber  when  the  General  came  in.  Mrs.  B.  knew  by  the 
Genei'al's  face  that  he  had  been  having  recourse  to  alcoliolic 
stimulus.  But  she  dared  not  speak.  A  tiger  in  a  jungle  was 
not  more  savage  than  Baynes  sometimes.  "  Where's  Char  1 " 
he  asked  in  his  dreadful,  liis  Bluebeard  voice.  "  Char  was  gone 
to  bed,"  said  mamma,  sorting  her  trumps.  "  Hm  !  Augoost, 
Odevee,  Osho ! "  Did  Eliza  Baynes  interfere,  though  she  knew 
he  had  had  enougli  1  As  soon  interfere  with  a  tiger,  and  tell  him 
he  had  eaten  enough  Sepoy.  After  Lady  Macl)('tli  had  induced 
Mac  to  go  through  that  l)usiness  with  Duncan,  dei)en(l  upon  it,  slic 
was  very  deferential  and  respectful  to  her  general.  No  groans, 
prayers,  remorses  could  avail  to  bring  his  late  Majesty  back  to  life 
again.  As  for  you,  old  man,  though  your  deed  is  done,  it  is  not 
past  recalling.  Though  you  have  witlidrawn  from  your  word  on  a 
sordid  money  pretext ;  made  two  hearts  miserable,  stabbed  cruelly 
that  one  which  you  love  best  in  tlie  world ;  acted  with  wicked 
ingratituile  towards  a  young  man,  who  has  been  nobly  forgiving 
towards  you  and  yours  ;  and  are  suffering  with  rage  and  remorse, 
as  you  own  your  crime  to  yourself; — your  deed  is  not  past  recalling 
as  yet.  You  may  soothe  that  anguish  and  dry  those  tears.  It  is 
but  an  act  of  resolution  on  your  i)art,  and  a  firm  resumption  of 
your  marital  authority.  Mrs.  Baynes,  after  her  crime,  is  quite 
humble  and  gentle.  She  has  half  murdered  her  child,  and  stretched 
Philip  on  ail  infernal  rack  of  torture ;  but  she  is  quite  civil  to 
everybody  at  Madame's  house.  Not  one  word  does  .she  say 
respecting  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch's  outbreak  of  the  night  before.  She 
talks  to  sister  Emily  about  Paris,  the  fashions,  and  Emily's  walks 
on  the  Boulevard  and  the  Palais  Royal  with  her  Major.  She 
bestows  ghastly  smiles  upon  sundry  lodgers  at  table.  She  thanks 
Augoost  when  he  serves  her  at  dinner — and  says,  "  Ah,  madame, 
que  le  boof  est  bong  aujourd'liui,  rien  que  j'aime  comme  le  jiotofou. 
Oh,  you  old  hypocrite  !  But  you  know  I,  for  my  part,  alway.s 
disliked  the  woman,  and  said  her  good-humour  was  more  de- 
testable than  her  anger.  You  hypocrite  !  I  say  again  : — ay,  and 
avow  that  there  were  other  hypocrites  at  the  table,  as  you  shall 
presently  hear. 

Wlien  Baynes  got  an  opixirtunity  of  speaking  unobserved,  as  he 
thouglit,  to  Madame,  you  may  be  sun;  the  guilty  wretch  asked  her 
how  his  little  Charlotte  was.  I\lrs.  Baynes  trumped  her  partner's 
best  heart  at  tliat  moment,  but  pretended  to  observe  or  overliear 
nothing.  "  She  goes  better — she  sleeps,"  Madame  .said.  "  Mr.  the 
Doctor  Martin  has  commanded  her  a  calming  potion."  And  wliat 
if  I  were  to  tell  you  tli;it  somebody  ha<l  taken  a  little  letter  from 
Charlotte,  and  actually  had  given  fifteen  sous  to  a  Savoyard  youth 


444  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

to  convey  that  letter  to  somebody  else  1  Wliat  if  I  were  to  tell  you 
that  the  party  to  whom  that  letter  was  addressed,  straightway 
wrote  an  answer — directed  to  Madame  de  Smolensk,  of  course"? 
I  know  it  was  very  wrong  ;  but  I  suspect  Philip's  prescription  did 
(juite  as  much  good  as  Dr.  Martin's,  and  don't  intend  to  be  very 
angry  with  Madame  for  consulting  the  unlicensed  practitioner. 
Don't  preach  to  me,  madam,  about  morality,  and  dangerous 
examples  set  to  young  peoj)le.  Even  at  your  present  mature  age, 
and  with  your  dear  daughters  around  you,  if  your  ladyship  goes 
to  hear  the  "  Barber  of  Seville,"  on  which  side  are  your  sympathies 
— on  Dr.  Bartolo's,  or  Miss  Rosina's  1 

Although,  tiien,  Mrs.  Baynes  was  most  respectful  to  her 
husband,  and  by  many  grim  blandishments,  humble  appeals,  and 
force;l  luimiliations,  strove  to  conciliate  and  soothe  him,  the  General 
turned  a  dark  lowering  face  upon  the  partner  of  his  existence  :  her 
dismal  smiles  were  no  longer  pleasing  to  him :  he  returned  curt 
"  Ohs  !  "  and  "  Ahs  !  "  to  her  remarks.  When  Mrs.  Hely  and  her 
son  and  her  daughter  drove  up  in  their  family  coach  to  pay  yet  a 
second  visit  to  the  Baynes  family,  the  General  flew  in  a  passion, 
and  cried,  "  Bless  my  soul,  Eliza,  you  can't  think  of  receiving 
visitors,  with  our  poor  child  sick  in  the  next  room?  It's 
inhuman  ! "  Tlie  scared  woman  ventured  on  no  remonstrances. 
She  was  so  frightened  that  she  did  not  attempt  to  scold  the 
younger  children.  She  took  a  piece  of  work,  and  sat  amongst 
tliem,  furtively  weeping.  Their  artless  queries  and  unreasonable 
laughter  stabbed  and  punished  tlie  matron.  You  see  people  do 
wrong,  though  they  are  long  past  fifty  years  of  age.  It  is  not  only 
the  scholars,  but  the  ushers,  and  the  head-master  himself,  who 
sometimes  deserve  a  chastisement.  I,  for  my  part,  hope  to  re- 
member this  sweet  truth,  thougli  I  live  into  the  year  1900. 

To  those  other  ladies  boarding  at  Madame's  establishment,  to 
Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Colonel  Bunch,  though  they  had  declared 
against  him,  and  expressed  their  opinions  in  the  frankest  way  on 
the  night  of  the  battle  royal,  the  General  was  provokingly  polite 
and  amiable.  They  had  said,  but  twenty-four  hours  since,  that  the 
General  was  a  brute  ;  and  Lord  Cliesterfield  could  not  have  been 
more  polite  to  a  lovely  young  duchess  than  was  Baynes  to  these 
matrons  next  day.  You  Imve  heard  how  Mrs.  Mac  had  a  strong 
desire  to  possess  a  new  Paris  bonnet,  so  that  she  might  appear  witli 
proper  lustre  among  the  ladies  on  the  promenade  at  Tours  1  Major 
and  Mrs.  Mac  and  Mrs.  Bunch  talked  of  going  to  the  Palais  Royal 
(where  MacWhirter  said  he  had  remarked  some  uncommonly  neat 
things,  by  George  !  f>,t  the  corner  shop  under  the  glass  gallery). 
On   this,   Baynes   started   up,   and   said   lie  would   accompany  his 


ON    HLS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      445 

t'rieiid.s,  adding,  "  You  know,  Emily,  I  ])roniisod  you  a  liat  ever  so 
long  ago  !  "  And  tliose  four  Avent  away  together,  and  not  one  oflcr 
did  Baynes  make  to  his  wife  to  join  tlie  i)arty  ;  thougli  lier  best 
lionnet,  poor  thing,  was  a  dreadfully  old  performance,  with  moulting 
feathers,  rumpled  ribbons,  tarnished  flowers  and  lace,  bought  in  St. 
Martin's  Alley  months  and  months  l)efore.  Emily,  to  be  sure,  said 
to  her  sister,  "Eliza,  won't  yon  be  of  the  party?  We  can  take  the 
omnibus  at  the  corner,  wliich  will  land  us  at  the  very  gate."  But 
as  Emily  gave  this  unlucky  invitation,  the  General's  face  wore  an 
expression  of  ill-will  so  savage  and  terrific,  that  Eliza  Baynes  said, 
"  No,  thank  you,  Emily ;  Charlotte  is  still  unwell,  and  I — I  may 
be  wanted  at  home."  And  the  party  went  away  without  Mrs. 
Baynes ;  and  they  Avere  absent  I  don't  know  how  long :  and  Emily 
MacWhirter  came  back  to  the  boarding-house  in  a  bonnet — tin; 
sweetest  thing  you  ever  saw  ! — green  piquti  velvet,  with  a  riiche 
full  of  rosebuds,  and  a  bird  of  paradise  perched  on  the  top,  peck- 
ing at  a  bunch  of  the  most  magnificent  grapes,  poppies,  ears  of 
corn,  barley,  etc.,  all  indicative  of  the  bounteous  autumn  season. 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  had  to  see  her  sister  return  home  in  this 
elegant  bonnet ;  to  welcome  her ;  to  acquiesce  in  Emily's  remark 
that  the  General  had  done  the  genteel  thing;  to  hear  how  the 
party  had  further  been  to  Tortoni's  and  had  ices  ;  and  then  to  go 
upstairs  to  her  own  room,  and  look  at  her  own  battered  blowsy  old 
vfuipean,  with  its  limp  streamers,  hanging  from  its  peg.  This 
humiliation,  I  say,  Eliza  Baynes  had  to  bear  in  silence,  without 
wincing,  and,  if  possible,  with  a  smile  on  her  face. 

In  consequence  of  circumstances  before  indicated.  Miss  Charlotte 
was  ])ronounce(l  to  be  very  nuich  better  when  her  pa})a  returned 
from  his  Palais  Royal  trip.  He  found  her  seated  on  Madame's 
sofa,  pale,  but  with  the  wonted  sweetness  in  her  smile.  He  kissed 
and  caressed  her  with  many  tender  words.  I  daresay  he  told 
her  there  was  nothing  in  the  world  he  loved  so  miuh  as  his 
Charlotte.  He  would  never  willingly  do  anything  to  give  her  pain, 
never !  She  had  been  his  good  girl,  and  his  blessing,  all  his 
life  !  Ah  !  that  is  a  prettier  little  picture  to  imagine — that 
repentant  man,  and  his  child  clinging  to  him — than  tiie  tableau 
overhead,  viz.,  Mrs.  Baynes  looking  at  her  old  bonnet.  Not  one 
word  was  said  alunit  Philij)  in  the  talk  lictwccn  Baynes  and  his 
daughter,  but  those  tender  jiaternal  looks  and  caresses  carried  liojie 
into  Charlotte's  heart  :  and  when  her  pajia  went  away  (she  said 
afterwanls  to  a  feniale  friend),  "I  got  up  and  followed  liim,  intend- 
ing to  show  him  Philij)'s  letter.  But  at  the  door  I  saw  mamma 
coming  down  tlie  stairs  :  and  slie  looked  so  dreadful,  and  frightened 
uie  so,  that  I  went  back."     There  are  some  mothers  I  have  heard 


446  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of,  wlio  won't  allow  their  daughters  to  reail  the  works  of  this 
humble  homilist,  lest  they  should  imbibe  "  dangerous"  notions,  &c. 
&c.  My  good  ladies,  give  them  "  Goody  Twoshoes  "  if  you  like,  or 
whatever  work,  combining  instruction  and  amusement,  you  think 
most  appropriate  to  their  juvenile  understandings  ;  but  I  beseech 
you  to  be  gentle  with  them.  I  never  saw  people  on  better  terms 
with  each  otlier,  more  frank,  affectionate,  and  cordial,  than  the 
])arents  and  the  grown-up  young  folks  in  the  United  States.  And 
why  ]  Because  the  children  were  spoiled,  to  be  sure !  I  say  to 
you,  get  the  confidence  of  yours — before  the  day  comes  of  revolt  and 
independence,  after  which  love  returneth  not. 

Now,  when  Mrs.  Baynes  went  in  to  her  daughter,  who  had 
been  sitting  pretty  comfortably  kissing  her  father  on  the  sofa  in 
Madame's  chamber,  all  those  soft  tremulous  smiles  and  twinkling 
dew-drops  of  compassion  and  forgiveness  which  anon  had  come  to 
soothe  the  little  mai<l,  fled  from  cheek  and  eyes.  They  began  to 
flash  again  with  their  febrile  brightness,  and  her  heart  to  throb  with 
dangerous  rapidity.  "  How  are  you  now  1 "  asks  mamma,  with  her 
deep  voice.  "  I  am  much  the  same,"  says  the  girl,  beginning  to 
tremble.  "  Leave  the  child  ;  you  agitate  her,  madam,"  cries  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  coming  in  after  Mrs.  Baynes.  That  sad, 
humiliated,  deserted  mother  goes  out  from  her  daughter's  presence, 
hanging  her  head.  She  put  on  the  poor  old  bonnet,  and  had  a  walk 
that  evening  on  the  Champs  Elys^es  with  her  little  ones,  and 
showed  them  Guignol :  she  gave  a  penny  to  Guignol's  man.  It  is 
my  belief  that  she  saw  no  more  of  the  performance  than  her  husband 
had  seen  of  the  ballet  the  night  previous,  when  Taglioni,  and 
Noblet,  and  Duvernay  danced  before  his  hot  eyes.  But  then,  you 
see,  the  hot  eyes  had  been  washed  with  a  refreshing  water  since, 
which  enabled  them  to  view  tlie  world  much  more  cheerfully  and 
briglitly.  Ah,  gracious  Heaven  gives  us  eyes  to  see  our  own  wrong, 
however  dim  age  may  make  them  ;  and  knees  not  too  stiff  to  kneel, 
in  spite  of  years,  cramp,  and  rheumatism  !  That  stricken  old 
woman,  then,  treated  iier  cliildren  to  the  trivial  comedy  of  Guignol. 
Slie  did  not  cry  out  when  the  two  boys  climbed  up  the  trees  of  the 
Elysian  Fields,  though  the  guardians  bade  them  descend.  She 
bought  pink  sticks  of  barley-sugar  for  the  young  ones.  Withdraw- 
ing the  glistening  sweetmeats  from  their  lips,  they  pointed  to  Mrs. 
Hely's  splendid  barouche  as  it  rolled  citywards  from  the  Bois  de 
Boulogne.  The  grey  shades  were  falling,  and  Auguste  was  in  the 
act  of  ringing  the  first  dinner-bell  at  Madame  Smolensk's  establish- 
ment, when  Mrs.  General  Baynes  returned  to  her  lodgings. 

Meanwhile,  Aunt  MacWhirter  had  been  to  pay  a  visit  to  little 
Miss  Charlotte,  in  the  new  bonnet  which  the  General,  Charlotte's 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     447 

papa,  had  bouglit  for  lier.  This  elegant  article  had  furnisl)ed  a 
subject  of  pleasing  cunversation  between  niece  and  aunt,  who  held 
each  otlier  in  very  kindly  regard,  and  all  the  details  of  the  bonnet, 
the  blue  flowers,  scarlet  flowers,  grapes,  slieaves  of  corn,  lace,  &c., 
were  examined  and  admired  in  detail.  Charlotte  remembered  the 
dowdy  old  English  thing  wiiich  Aunt  Mac  wore  when  she  went  out? 
Charlotte  did  remember  the  bonnet,  and  lauglied  when  Mrs.  Mac 
described  how  papa,  in  the  hackney  coach  on  their  return  home, 
insisted  upon  taking  the  old  wretch  of  a  V)onnet,  and  flinging  it  out 
of  the  coach  window  into  the  I'oad,  where  an  old  chiftbnnier  passing 
picked  it  up  M'ith  his  iron  hook,  ])ut  it  on  his  own  head,  and  walked 
away  grinning.  I  declare,  at  the  recital  of  this  narrative,  Charlotte 
laughed  as  pleasantly  and  haj)pily  as  in  former  days  ;  and,  no  doubt, 
there  were  more  kisses  between  this  poor  little  maid  and  her  aunt. 

Now,  you  will  remark,  that  the  General  and  his  party,  though 
they  returned  from  the  Palais  Royal  in  a  hackney  coach,  went 
thither  on  foot,  two  and  two — viz..  Major  MacWhirter  leading,  and 
giving  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Bunch  (who,  I  promise  you,  knew  the  shops 
in  the  Palais  Royal  well),  and  the  General  following  at  some 
distance,  with  his  sister-in-law  for  a  partner. 

In  that  walk  a  conversation  very  important  to  Charlotte's 
interests  took  })lace  between  her  aunt  and  her  father. 

"  Ah,  Baynes !  this  is  a  sad  business  alxnit  deai-est  Char," 
Mrs.  Mac  broke  out  with  a  sigh. 

"  It  is,  indeed,  Emily,"  says  the  General,  witli  a  very  sad  groan 
on  liis  part. 

"  It  goes  to  my  heart  to  see  you,  Baynes ;  it  goes  to  Mac's 
heart.  We  talked  about  it  ever  so  late  last  night.  You  were 
sutt'ering  dreadfully ;  and  all  the  brandy-pawnee  in  the  world  won't 
cure  you,  Charles." 

"No,  faith,"  says  the  General,  with  a  dismal  screw  of  the 
mouth.  "  You  see,  Emily,  to  see  that  child  sufter  tears  my  heart 
tut — by  George,  it  does.  She  has  been  the  best  child,  and  the 
most  gentle,  and  the  merriest,  and  the  most  obedient,  and  I  never 
had  a  word  of  fault  to  find  with  her  :  and — poo-ooh  !  "  Here  the 
General's  eyes,  which  have  been  winking  with  extreme  rapidity, 
give  way;  and  at  the  signal  pooh  !  thci'e  issue  out  from  them  two 
streams  of  that  eye-water  which  we  Imve  said  is  sometimes  so  good 
for  the  sight. 

"My  dear  kind  Chailcs,  you  were  always  a  good  creature,"  says 
Emily,  patting  the  arm  un  which  hers  rests.  Meanwhile  Major- 
General  Baynes,  C.B.,  puts  his  bamboo  cane  under  his  disengag(>d 
arm,  extracts  from  his  hind  ])ocket  a  fine  large  yellow  bandanna 
pocket-handkerchief,  and   performs   a    prodigious   loud   obbligato — 


448  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

just  under  the  spray  of  the  Ptond-i)()int  fountain,  opposite  the 
Bridge  of  the  Invalides,  over  which  poor  Philip  has  tramped  many 
and  many  a  day  and  niglit  to  see  his  little  maid. 

"  Have  a  care  with  your  cane,  then,  old  imbecile  !  '*  cries  an 
approaching  foot-passenger,  whom  the  General  meets  and  charges 
with  his  iron  ferule. 

"  Mille  pardong,  mosoo ;  je  vous  demande  mille  pardong,"  says 
the  old  man,  quite  meekly. 

'■'  You  are  a  good  soul,  Charles,"  the  lady  continues  ;  "  and  my 
little  Char  is  a  darling.  You  never  would  have  done  this  of  your 
own  accord.  Mercy  !  And  see  what  it  was  coming  to  !  Mac  only 
told  me  last  night.  You  horrid  bloodthirsty  creature !  Two 
challenges — and  dearest  Mac  as  hot  as  pepper !  Oh,  Charles 
Baynes,  I  tremble  when  I  think  of  the  danger  from  which  you 
have  all  been  rescued  !  Suppose  you  brought  home  to  Eliza — 
suppose  dearest  Mac  brought  home  to  me  killed  by  this  arm  on 
which  I  am  leaning.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful,  dreadful !  We  are  sinners 
all,  that  we  are,  Baynes  ! '' 

"I  humbly  ask  pardon  for  having  thought  of  a  great  crime.  I 
ask  fjardon,"  says  the  General,  very  pale  and  solemn. 

"  If  you  had  killed  dear  Mac,  would  you  ever  have  had  rest 
again,  Charles  1 " 

"No;  I  think  not.  I  should  not  deserve  it,"'  answers  the 
contrite  Baynes. 

"  Yoii  have  a  good  heart.  It  was  not  j/ov.  who  did  this.  I 
know  who  it  was.  She  always  had  a  dreadful  temper.  The  way 
in  which  she  used  to  torture  our  poor  dear  Louisa  who  is  dead,  I 
can  hardly  forgive  now,  Baynes.  Poor  suffering  angel !  Eliza  was 
at  her  bedside  nagging  and  torturing  her  up  to  the  very  last  day. 
Did  you  ever  see  her  with  nurses  and  servants  in  India  1  The  way 
in  which  she  treated  them,  was '' 

"  Don't  say  any  more.  I  am  aware  of  my  wife's  faults  of 
temper.  Heaven  knows  it  has  made  me  sufter  enough  ! "  says  the 
General,  hanging  his  head  down. 

""Why,  man — do  you  intend  to  give  way  to  her  altogether? 
I  said  to  Mac  last  night,  '  Mac,  does  he  intend  to  give  way  to  her 
altogether?  The  "Army  List"  doesn't  contain  the  name  of  a 
braver  man  than  Charles  Baynes,  and  is  my  sister  Eliza  to  rule 
him  entirely,  Mac  1 '  I  said.  No,  if  you  stand  up  to  Eliza,  I  know 
from  experience  she  will  give  way.  We  have  had  quarrels,  scores 
and  hundreds,  as  you  know,  Baynes." 

"Faith,  I  do,"  owns  the  General,  with  a  sad  smile  on  his 
countenance. 

"And  sometimes  she  has  liad  the  best  and  sometimes  I  have 


ON  HLS  WAY  THROUGH  THE  WORLD  44-9 

liad  the  best,  Baynes  !  But  I  never  yielded,  as  you  do,  without  a 
fight  lor  my  own.  No,  never,  Baynes  !  And  me  and  Mac  are 
sliooked,  I  tell  you  ftxirly,  when  we  see  the  way  in  which  you  give 
up  to  her  !  " 

"  Come,  come  !  I  think  you  have  told  me  often  enough  that  I 
am  henpecked,"  says  the  General. 

"  And  you  give  up  not  yourself  only,  Charles,  hut  your  dear 
dear  child — poor  little  suffering  love  !  " 

"  The  young  man's  a  beggar ! "  cries  the  General,  biting  his 
lips. 

"  What  were  you,  what  was  Mac  and  me  when  we  married  1 
We  hadn't  much  beside  our  pay,  had  we  1  we  rubbed  on  through 
bad  weather  and  good,  managing  as  best  we  could,  loving  eai^h  other, 
God  be  praised  !  And  here  we  are,  owing  nobody  anything,  and 
me  going  to  have  a  new  bonnet !  "  and  she  tossed  up  her  hearl,  and 
gave  her  companion  a  good-natured  look  through  her  twinkling 
eyes. 

"  Emily,  you  have  a  good  heart !  that's  the  truth,"  says  the 
General. 

"  And  you  have  a  good  heart,  Charles,  as  sure  as  my  name's 
MacWhirter ;  and  I  want  you  to  act  upon  it,  and  I  propose " 

"What?" 

"  Well,   I  propose  that "     But  now  they  have  reached  the 

Tuileries  garden  gates,  and  pass  through,  and  continue  their  conver- 
sation in  the  midst  of  such  a  hubliub  that  we  cannot  overhear  them. 
They  cross  the  garden,  and  so  make  their  way  into  the  Palais  Royal, 
and  the  purchase  of  the  bonnet  takes  place ;  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  excitement  occasioned  l)y  fhaf  event,  of  course,  all  discussion  of 
domestic  affairs  becomes  uninteresting. 

But  the  gist  of  Bayncs's  talk  with  his  sister-indaw  may  be 
divin(!d  from  the  conversation  which  i)resently  occurred  between 
( 'hailnttc  and  her  aunt.  Charlotte  did  imt  conie  in  to  the  public 
dinner.  She  was  too  weak  for  that;  and  " ///i  /joh  bouillon"  and 
a  wing  of  fowl  were  served  to  her  in  the  private  apartment  wheie 
slie  had  been  reclining  all  day.  At  dessert,  however,  Mrs.  Mac- 
Whirter took  a  fine  bunch  of  grapes  and  a  plump  rosy  peach  from 
the  table,  and  carried  them  to  the  little  maid,  and  their  interview 
may  be  described  with  sufficient  accuracy,  though  it  i)assed  without 
other  witnesses. 

From  the  outl)rpuk  on  the  night  of  (piarrels,  Charlotte  knew 
that  iier  aunt  was  her  friend.  Th(>  glances  of  Mrs.  MacWldrter's 
eyes,  and  the  expression  of  iier  lioiuiy  homely  face,  fold  her  syni))atliy 
to  the  girl.  There  were  no  jiallors  now,  no  angry  glances,  no  heart- 
beating.  Miss  Char  could  even  make  a  little  joke  when  her  aunt 
11  2  F 


450  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

appeared,    and  say,   "  What   beautiful  grapes !     Why,  aunt,    you 
must  have  taken  them  out  of  the  new  bonnet." 

"  You  should  have  had  the  bu-d  of  paradise,  too,  dear,  only  I 
see  you  have  not  eaten  your  chicken.  She  is  a  kind  woman, 
Madame  Smolensk.  I  like  her.  She  gives  very  nice  dinners.  I 
can't  think  how  she  does  it  for  the  money,  I  am  sure  ! " 

"  She  has  been  very  very  kind  to  me ;  and  I  love  her  with  all 
my  heart !  "  cries  Charlotte. 

"  Poor  darling  !  We  have  all  our  trials,  and  yours  have  begun, 
my  love  ! " 

"  Yes,  indeed,  aunt !  "  whimpers  the  young  person  ;  upon  which 
osculation  possibly  takes  place. 

"  My  dear !  when  your  papa  took  me  to  buy  the  bonnet,  we 
had  a  long  talk,  and  it  was  about  you." 

"About  me,  aunt?"  warbles  Miss  Charlotte. 

"  He  would  not  take  mamma ;  he  would  only  go  with  me, 
alone.  I  knew  he  wanted  to  say  something  about  you  ;  and  what 
do  you  think  it  was  ?  My  dear,  you  have  been  very  much  agitated 
here.  You  and  your  poor  mamma  are  likely  to  disagree  for  some 
time.  She  will  drag  you  to  those  balls  and  fine  parties,  and  bring 
you  those  fine  jyartners." 

"  Oh,  i  hate  them  !  "  cries  Charlotte.  Poor  little  Walsingham 
Hely,  what  had  he  done  to  be  hated  1 

"Well.  It  is  not  for  me  to  speak  of  a  mother  to  her  own 
daughter.  But  you  know  mamma  has  a  tvay  with  her.  She 
expects  to  be  obeyed.  She  will  give  you  no  peace.  She  will  come 
back  to  her  point  again  and  again.  You  know  how  she  speaks  of 
some  one — a  certain  gentleman  1  If  ever  she  sees  him,  she  will  be 
rude  to  him.  Mamma  can  be  rude  at  times — that  I  must  say  of 
my  own  sister.     As  long  as  you  remain  here " 

"  Oh,  aunt,  aunt !  Don't  take  me  away,  don't  take  me  away  !  " 
cries  Charlotte. 

"  My  dearest,  are  you  afraid  of  your  old  aunt,  and  your  Uncle 
Mac,  who  is  so  kind,  and  has  always  loved  you?  Major  Mac- 
Whirter  has  a  will  of  his  own,  too,  though  of  course  I  make  no 
allusions.  We  know  how  admirably  somebody  has  behaved  to 
your  fiimily.  Somebody  who  has  been  most  iingratefully  treated, 
thougli  of  course  I  make  no  allusions.  If  you  have  given  away 
your  heart  to  your  father's  greatest  benefactor,  do  you  suppose  I 
and  Uncle  Mac  will  quarrel  with  you  ?  When  Eliza  married  Baynes 
(your  father  was  a  penniless  subaltern,  then,  my  dear, — and  my 
sister  was  certainly  neither  a  fortune  nor  a  beauty),  didn't  she  go  dead 
against  the  wishes  of  our  father  %  Certainly  she  did  !  But  she 
said  she  was  of  age — that  she  was,  and  a  great  deal  more,  too— 


TIIK    POOR    lll-I.l'INC     lllK    I'ooi;. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      451 

and  she  would  do  as  she  liked,  and  she  made  Baj'nes  marry  her. 
Wliy  should  you  be  afraid  of  coming  to  us,  love  ?  You  are  nearer 
somebody  here,  but  can  you  see  him  1  Your  mamma  will  never  let 
you  go  out,  but  she  Avill  follow  you  like  a  shadow.  You  may  write 
to  him.  Don't  tell  me,  child.  Haven't  I  been  young  myself? 
and  when  there  was  a  diffieulty  between  Mac;  and  poor  papa,  didn't 
Mae  write  to  me,  though  he  hates  letters,  i)oor  dear,  and  certainly 
is  a  stick  at  them?  And,  tliough  we  were  forbidden,  had  we  not 
twenty  ways  of  telegraphing  to  each  other  1  Law  !  your  poor  dear 
grandfather  was  in  such  a  rage  witli  me  once,  when  he  found  one, 
that  he  took  down  his  great  buggy  whip  to  me,  a  grown  girl !  " 

Charlotte,  who  has  plenty  of  humour,  would  have  laughed  at 
this  confession  some  other  time,  but  now  she  was  too  much  agitated 
by  that  invitation  to  quit  Paris,  which  her  aunt  had  just  given  her. 
Quit  Paris'?  Lose  the  chance  of  seeing  her  dearest  friend,  her  pro- 
tector !  If  he  was  not  with  her,  was  he  not  near  her  1  Yes,  near 
lier  always !  On  that  horrible  night,  when  all  was  so  desperate, 
did  not  her  champion  burst  foi-ward  to  her  rescue  1  Oh,  the  dearest 
and  bravest !     Oh,  the  tender  and  true  ! 

"  You  are  not  listening,  you  poor  child  ! "  said  Aunt  Mac,  sur- 
veying her  niece  with  looks  of  kindness.  "  Now  listen  to  me  once 
more.  Whisper  !  "  And  sitting  down  on  the  settee  by  Charlotte's 
side.  Aunt  Emily  first  kissed  the  girl's  round  cheek,  and  then 
whispered  into  her  ear. 

Never,  I  declare,  was  medicine  so  efficacious,  or  rapid  of  effect, 
as  that  wondrous  distilment  which  Aunt  Emily  poured  into  her 
niece's  ear !  "  Oh,  you  goose  ! "  she  began  by  saying,  and  the  rest 
of  the  charm  she  whisijered  into  that  pearly  little  pink  sliell  round 
wiiicii  Miss  Cliarlotte's  soft  brown  ringlets  clustered.  Such  a  sweet 
blusli  rose  straightway  to  the  cheek  !  Such  sweet  lips  began  to 
cry,  "  Oil,  you  dear  dear  aunt,"  and  then  began  to  kiss  aunt's  kind 
lace,  that,  I  dechire,  if  I  knew  tlie  spell,  I  would  like  to  pronounce 
it  right  off,  with  Guch  a  sweet  young  j)atient  to  practise  on. 

"When  do  we  go?  To-morrow,  aunt,  n'est-ce  pas'?  Oh,  I  am 
([uite  strong!  never  felt  so  well  in  my  life  I  I'll  go  and  jiack  up 
//lis  insfant,''  cries  the  young  person. 

"  Doucement !  Paj)a  knows  of  the  plan.  Indeed,  it  was  he 
who  proposed  it." 

"  Dearest,  best  father  !  "  ejaculates  Miss  Charlotte. 

"But  mamma  does  not;  and  if  you  show  yourself  very  eager, 
Ch.u-lotte,  she  may  object,  you  know.  Heaven  forbid  tiiat  /  should 
counsel  dissimulation  to  a  cliild  !  lint  under  the  circumstances,  my 

love At  least  I  own   wiiat  hapjicncd  lietwccn  Mac  and  me. 

Law!   /didn't  care  for  papa's  buggy  whip!     I  knew  it  would  not 


452  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Imrt ;  and  as  for  Baylies,  I  am  sure  he  would  not  hurt  a  fly.  Never 
was  man  more  sorry  for  what  he  has  done.  He  told  me  so  whilst 
we  walked  away  from  the  lionnet-shop,  whilst  he  was  carrying  my 
old  yellow.  We  met  sonie1)0(ly  near  the  Bourse.  How  sad  he 
looked,  and  how  handsome,  too  !  /  bowed  to  him,  and  kissed  my 
hand  to  him,  that  is,  the  knob  of  my  parasol.  Papa  couldn't  shake 
liands  with  him,  because  of  my  bonnet,  you  know,  in  the  brown 
paper  bag.  He  has  a  grand  beard,  indeed !  He  looked  like  a 
wounded  lion.  I  said  so  to  papa.  And  I  said,  '  It  is  you  who 
wound  him,  Charles  Baynes  ! '  'I  know  that,'  papa  said.  '  I  have 
been  thinking  of  it.  I  can"t  sleep  at  night  for  thinking  about  it : 
and  it  makes  me  dee'd  unhappy.'  You  know  what  papa  sometimes 
says  ?  Dear  me  !  You  shoidd  have  heard  them,  when  Eliza  and 
I  joined  the  army,  years  and  years  ago  !  " 

For  once,  Charlotte  Baynes  Avas  happy  at  her  father's  being 
unhappy.  The  little  maiden's  heart  had  been  wounded  to  think 
that  her  father  could  do  his  Charlotte  a  wrong.  Ah  !  take  warning 
by  him,  ye  greybeards  !  And  however  old  and  toothless,  if  you 
have  done  wrong,  own  that  you  have  done  so ;  and  sit  down  and 
say  grace,  and  mumble  your  humble  pie  ! 

The  General,  then,  did  not  shake  hands  with  Philip ;  but 
Major  MacWhirter  went  up  in  the  most  marked  way,  and  gave 
the  wounded  lion  his  own  paw,  and  said,  "  Mr.  Firmin,  glad  to 
see  you  !  If  ever  you  come  to  Tours,  mind,  don't  forget  my  wife 
and  me.  Fine  day.  Little  patient  much  better !  Bon  courage, 
as  they  say  !  " 

I  wonder  what  sort  of  a  bungle  Philip  made  of  his  correspond- 
ence with  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  that  night  ■?  Every  man  who 
lives  by  his  pen,  if  by  chance  he  looks  back  at  his  writings  of 
former  years,  lives  in  the  past  again.  Our  griefs,  our  pleasures, 
our  youth,  our  sorrows,  our  dear  dear  friends,  resuscitate.  How 
we  tingle  with  shame  over  some  of  those  fine  passages  !  How 
dreary  are  those  disinterred  jokes  !  It  was  Wednesday  night. 
Philip  was  writing  off  at  home,  in  his  inn,  one  of  his  grand  tirades, 
dated  "  Paris,  Thursday  " — so  as  to  be  in  time,  you  understand, 
for  the  post  of  Saturday,  when  the  little  waiter  comes  and  says, 
winking,  "  Again  that  lady.  Monsieur  Philippe  !  " 

"  What  ladyT'  asks  our  own  intelligent  correspondent. 

"  That  old  lady  who  came  the  other  day,  you  know." 

"  C'est  moi,  mon  ami ! "  cries  Madame  Smolensk's  well-known 
grave  voice.  "  Here  is  a  letter,  d'abord.  But  that  says  nothing. 
It  was  written  before  the  grande  nouvelle — the  great  news — the 
good  news ! " 

"  What  good  news  1 "  asks  the  gentleman. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     453 

"  In  two  (lays  Miss  goes  to  Tours  with  her  aunt  and  uncle 
— this  good  Macvirterre.  They  have  taken  their  places  by  the 
ililigence  of  Lafitte  and  Caillard.  They  are  thy  friends.  Papa 
encourages  her  going.  Here  is  their  card  of  visit.  Go  thou 
also ;  they  will  receive  thee  with  open  arms.  What  hast  thou, 
niy  son  1 '' 

Philip  looked  dreadfully  sad.  An  injured  and  unfortunate 
gentleman  at  New  York  had  drawn  upon  him,  and  he  had  paid 
away  everything  he  had  hut  four  francs,  and  he  was  living  on 
credit  until  his  next  remittance  arrived. 

"  Thou  hast  no  money  !  I  have  tliought  of  it.  Behold  of  it  ! 
Let  him  wait — the  proprietor !  "  And  she  takes  out  a  l)ank-note, 
which  she  puts  in  the  young  man's  hand. 

"  Tiens,  il  I'embrasse  encor,  c'te  vieille  ! "  says  the  little  knife- 
boy.      "  J'aimerais  pas  ca,  moi,  par  exemp' !  " 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

IN   THE  DEPARTMENTS   OF  SEINE,   LOIRE,   AND 
STYX  (INFERIEUR) 

OUR  dear  friend  Mrs.  Baynes  was  suflferiug  under  the  influence 
of  one  of  those  jtanics  which  sometimes  seized  her,  and 
during  which  she  remained  her  husband's  most  obedient 
Eliza  and  vassal.  When  ^fiynes  wore  a  certain  expression  of 
countenance,  we  have  said  that  his  wife  knew  resistance  to  be 
useless.  That  expression,  I  suppose,  he  assumed,  when  he  an- 
nounced Charlotte's  departure  to  her  mother,  and  ordered  Mrs. 
General  Baynes  to  make  the  necessary  preparations  for  the  girl. 
"  She  might  stay  some  time  with  her  aunt,"  Baynes  stated.  "  A 
change  of  air  would  do  the  child  a  great  deal  of  good.  Let  every- 
thing necessary  in  the  shape  of  hats,  bonnets,  winter  clothes,  and 
so  forth,  be  got  ready."  "  Was  Char,  then,  to  stay  away  so  longi " 
asked  Mrs.  B.  "  She  has  been  so  happy  here  that  you  want  to 
keep  her,  and  fancy  she  can't  be  happy  without  you  !  "  I  can  fancy 
the  General  grimly  replying  to  the  partner  of  his  existence.  Hang- 
ing down  her  withered  head,  with  a  tear  mayhap  trickling  down  her 
cheek,  I  can  fancy  the  old  woman  silently  departing  to  do  the 
bidding  of  her  lord.  She  selects  a  trunk  out  of  the  store  of  Baynes 's 
baggage.  A  young  lady's  trunk  was  a  trunk  in  those  days.  Now 
it  is  a  two  or  three  storied  edifice  of  wood,  in  which  two  or  three 
full-grown  bodies  of  young  ladies  (without  crinoline)  might  be 
packed.  I  saw  a  little  old  countrywoman  at  the  Folkestone  station 
last  year  with  her  travelling  baggage  contained  in  a  band-box  tied 
up  in  an  old  cotton  handkerchief  hanging  on  her  arm ;  and  she 
surveyed  Lady  Knightsbridge's  twenty-three  black  trunks,  each  well- 
nigh  as  large  as  her  Ladyship's  opera-box.  Before  these  great 
edifices  that  old  woman  stood  wondering  dumbly.  That  old  lady 
and  I  had  lived  in  a  time  when  crinoline  was  not ;  and  yet,  I 
think,  women  looked  even  prettier  in  that  time  than  they  do  now. 
Well,  a  trunk  and  a  band-box  were  fetched  out  of  the  baggage  heap 
for  little  Cliarlotte,  and  I  daresay  her  little  brothers  jumped  and 
danced  on  the  box  with  much  energy  to  make  the  lid  shut,  and  the 
General  brought  out  his  hammer  and  nails,  and  nailed  a  card  on  the 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     455 

box  with  "  Mademoiselle  Bayues  "  thereon  printed.  And  mamma 
had  to  look  on  and  witness  those  pi'ei)arations.  And  Walsingham 
Hely  had  called ;  and  he  wouldn't  call  ai^ain,  she  knew ;  and  that 
fair  chance  for  the  establishment  of  her  child  was  lost  by  the 
obstinacy  of  her  self-willed  reckless  husband.  That  woman  had  to 
water  her  soup  with  her  furtive  tears,  to  sit  of  nights  behind  hearts 
and  spades,  and  brood  over  her  crushed  hopes.  If  I  contemplate 
that  wretched  old  Niobe  much  longer,  I  shall  begin  to  pity  her. 
Away  softness  !  Take  out  thy  arrows,  the  poisoned,  the  barbed, 
the  rankling,  and  prod  me  the  old  creature  well,  god  of  the  silver 
bow  !  Eliza  Baynes  had  to  look  on,  then,  and  see  the  trunks 
packed  ;  to  see  her  own  authority  over  her  own  daughter  wrested 
away  from  her ;  to  see  the  imdutiful  girl  prejiare  with  perfect 
delight  and  alacrity  to  go  away,  without  feeling  a  pang  at  leaving 
a  mother  who  had  nursed  her  through  adverse  illnesses,  who  had 
scolded  her  for  seventeen  years. 

The  General  accompanied  the  i)arty  to  the  diligence  office. 
Little  Char  was  very  pale  and  melancholy  indeed  wiien  she  took 
her  place  in  the  coup^.  "  She  should  have  a  corner  :  she  had  been 
ill,  and  ought  to  have  a  corner,"  Uncle  Mac  said,  and  clieerfully 
consented  to  be  bodkin.  Our  three  special  friends  are  seated. 
The  other  passengers  clamber  into  their  places.  Away  goes  the 
clattering  team,  as  the  General  waves  an  adieu  to  his  friends. 
"  Monstrous  fine  horses  those  grey  Normans  ;  famous  breed,  indeed," 
he  remarks  to  his  wife  on  his  return. 

"  Indeed,"  she  echoes.  "  Pray,  in  what  part  of  the  carriage 
was  Mr.  Firmin  1 "  she  presently  asks. 

"In  no  part  of  the  carriage  at  all !  "  Baynes  answers  fiercely, 
turning  beetroot  red.  And  thus,  though  she  had  been  silent,  obedient, 
hanging  her  head,  the  woman  showed  that  she  was  aware  of  her 
master's  schemes,  and  why  her  girl  had  been  taken  away.  She 
knew  ;  but  she  was  beaten.  It  remained  for  her  but  to  be  silent 
and  bow  her  head.  I  daresay  she  did  not  sleep  one  wiidc  that 
night.  She  followed  the  diligence  in  its  journey.  "  Char  is  gone," 
she  thought.  "Yes;  in  due  time  he  will  take  from  me  tlie  obedience 
of  my  other  children,  and  tear  them  out  of  my  lap."  He — that  is, 
the  General— was  sleeping  meanwhile.  He  had  had  in  the  last  few 
days  four  awful  battles — with  his  child,  with  his  friends,  with  his 
wife — in  which  latter  combat  lie  had  been  conqueror.  No  wonder 
Baynes  was  tired,  and  needed  rest.  Any  one  of  those  engagements 
was  enough  to  weary  the  veteran. 

If  we  take  the  liberty  of  looking  into  double-bedded  rooms,  and 
peering  into  the  thoughts  which  are  jiassing  under  private  inghtcaps, 
may  we  not  examine  the  coupc^  of  a  jingling  diliirence  with  an  open 


456  THE    ADVENTURES   OF    PHILIP 

window,  in  which  a  young  lady  sits  wide  awake  by  the  side  of  her 
uncle  and  aunt  1  These  perhaps  are  asleep ;  but  she  is  not.  Ah  ! 
she  is  thinking  of  another  journey  !  that  blissful  one  from  Boulogne, 
when  he  was  there  yonder  in  tlie  imperial,  by  the  side  of  the  con- 
ductor. When  the  MacWhirter  party  had  come  to  the  diligence 
office,  how  her  little  heart  had  beat !  How  she  had  looked  under 
the  lamps  at  all  the  people  lounging  about  the  court !  How  she 
liad  listened  when  the  clerk  called  out  the  names  of  the  passengers ; 
and,  mercy,  what  a  fright  she  had  been  in,  lest  he  should  be  there 
after  all,  while  she  stood  yet  leaning  on  her  father's  arm  !     But 

there  was  no well,  names,  I  think,  need  scarcely  be  mentioned. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  individual  in  question.  Papa  kissed  her, 
and  sadly  said  good-bye.  Good  Madame  Smolensk  came  with  an 
adieu  and  an  embrace  for  her  dear  Miss,  and  whispered,  "  Courage, 
mon  enfant,"  and  then  said,  "  Hold,  I  have  brought  you  some 
bonbons."  There  they  were  in  a  little  packet.  Little  Charlotte 
put  the  packet  into  her  little  basket.  Away  goes  the  diligence, 
but  the  individual  had  made  no  sign. 

Away  goes  the  diligence ;  and  every  now  and  then  Charlotte 
feels  the  little  packet  in  her  little  basket.     What  does  it  contain 

oh,  what?     If  Charlotte  could  but  read  with  her  heart,  she 

would  see  in  that  little  packet — the  sweetest  bonbon  of  all  perhaps 
it  might  be,  or,  ah  me  !  tlie  bitterest  almond !  Through  the  night 
goes  the  diligence,  passing  relay  after  relay.  Uncle  Mac  sleeps.  I 
think  I  have  said  he  snored.  Aunt  Mac  is  quite  silent,  and  Char 
sits  plaintively  with  her  lonely  thoughts  and  her  bonbons,  as  miles, 
liours,  relays  pass. 

"  These  ladies  will  they  descend  and  take  a  cup  of  coffee,  a  cup 
of  bouillon  1 "  at  last  cries  a  waiter  at  the  coupd  door,  as  the  carriage 
stops  in  Orleans.  "  By  all  means  a  cup  of  coffee,"  says  Aunt  Mac. 
"The  little  Orleans  wine  is  good,"  cries  Uncle  Mac.  "Descendons!" 
"  This  way,  madame,"  says  the  waiter.  "  Charlotte  my  love,  some 
coffee  1 " 

"  I  will — I  will  stay  in  the  carriage.  I  don't  want  anything, 
thank  you,"  says  Miss  Charlotte.  And  the  instant  her  relations 
are  gone,  entering  the  gate  of  the  "  Lion  Noir,"  where,  you  know, 
are  the  Bureaux  des  Messageries  Lafitte,  Caillard  et  C'" — I  say,  on 
the  very  instant  when  her  relations  have  disappeared,  what  do  you 
think  Miss  Charlotte  does  ? 

She  opens  that  packet  of  bonbons  with  fingers  that  tremble — 
tremble  so,  I  wonder  how  she  could  undo  tlie  knot  of  the  string  (or 
do  you  think  she  had  untied  that  knot  under  her  shawl  in  the  dark? 
I  can't  say.  We  never  shall  know).  Well ;  she  opens  the  packet. 
She  docs  not  care  one  fig  for  the  lollipops,  almonds,  and  so  forth. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     457 

She  pounces  oil  :i  little  sera])  of  ])ai)ei-,  aii<l  is  going  to  read  it  by 

the  light  of  the  steaming  stable  lanterns,  when oh,  what  maile 

her  start  so  ? 

In  those  old  days  there  used  to  be  two  diligences  which 
travelled  nightly  to  Tours,  setting  out  at  the  same  hour,  and 
stopjiing  at  almost  the  same  relays.  The  diligence  of  Lafitte  and 
Caillai-d  suppe<l  at  the  "Lion  Noir  "  at  Orleans — the  diligence  of 
the  Messagerics  Royales  sto})})ed  at  the  "Ecu  de  France,"  hard  by. 
Well,  as  the  Messagerics  Royales  are  supi)ing  at  the  "  Ecu  de 
France,"  a  passenger  strolls  over  from  that  coach,  and  strolls  and 
strolls  until  he  comes  to  the  coach  of  Lafitte,  Caillard,  and  Compaiiy, 
and  to  the  coup^  window  where  Miss  Baynes  is  trying  to  decipher 
her  bonbon. 

He  comes   up — and   as  the   night-lamps   fall   on   his  face   and 

lieard — liis  rosy  face,  his  yellow  beard — oh  ! What  means  that 

scream  of  the  young  lady  in  the  coupd  of  Lafitte,  Caillard  et 
Compagnie !  I  declare  she  has  dropped  the  letter  which  she  was 
about  to  read.  It  has  droppied  into  a  pool  of  mud  under  the 
diligence  off  fore-wheel.  And  he  with  the  yellow  beard,  and  a 
sweet  happy  laugh,  and  a  tremble  in  his  deep  voice,  says,  "  You 
need  not  read  it.     It  was  only  to  tell  you  what  you  know." 

Then  the  coupd  window  says,  "  Oh,  Philip  !     Oh,  my " 

My  what?  You  cannot  hear  the  words,  because  the  grey 
Norman  horses  come  squealing  and  clattering  up  to  their  coach-pole 
with  such  accompanying  cries  and  imprecations  from  the  horse- 
keepers  and  postillions,  that  no  wonder  the  little  warble  is  lost.  It 
was  not  intended  for  you  and  me  to  hear ;  but  perhaps  you  can 
guess  the  purport  of  the  words.  Perhaps  in  quite  old  old  days, 
you  may  remember  having  heard  such  little  whispers,  in  a  time 
when  the  song-birds  in  your  grove  carolled  that  kind  of  song  very 
pleasantly  and  freely.  But  this,  my  good  madam,  is  written  in 
Febiuary.  The  birds  are  gone :  the  branches  are  bare :  the 
gardener  has  actually  swept  the  leaves  off  the  walks  :  and  the 
whole  affair  is  an  affair  of  a  past  year,  you  understand.  Well ! 
(•(irj)e  dierit,  fiKjit  hora,  &c.  &c.  There,  for  one  miiuite,  for  two 
minutes,  stands  Philip  over  the  diligence  off  fore-wheel,  talking  to 
Charlotte  at  the  window,  and  their  heads  are  quite  close — quite 
close.  What  are  those  two  pairs  of  lips  warbling,  whispering'? 
"  Hi !  Gare  !  Ohd  !  "  The  horsekeepers,  I  say,  quite  prevent  you 
from  hearing ;  and  here  come  the  j)assengers  out  of  the  "  Lion 
Noir,"  Aunt  Mac  still  uuinching  a  great  slice  of  bread-and-butter. 
Charlotte  is  quite  comfortable,  and  docs  not  want  anything,  dear 
aunt,  thank  you.  I  \\u\n\  she  nestles  in  her  corner,  and  has  a 
sweet  slumber.     On  the  journey  the  twin  diligences  pass  and  repass 


458  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

each  other.  Perhaps  Charlotte  looks  out  of  her  window  sometimes 
and  towards  the  other  carriage.  I  don't  know.  It  is  a  long  time 
ago.  What  used  you  to  do  in  old  days,  ere  railroads  were,  and 
when  diligences  ran  ?  They  were  slow  enough  ;  but  they  have  got 
to  their  journey's  end  somehow.  They  were  tight,  hot,  dusty,  dear, 
stuffy,  and  uncomfortable ;  but,  for  all  that,  travelling  was  good 
sport  sometimes.  And  if  the  world  would  have  the  kindness  to  go 
l)ack  for  five-and- twenty  or  thirty  years,  some  of  us  who  have 
travelled  on  the  Tours  and  Orleans  Railway  very  comfortably  would 
like  to  take  the  diligence  journey  now. 

Having  myself  seen  the  city  of  Tours  only  last  year,  of  course  I 
don't  remember  much  about  it.  A  man  remembers  boyhood,  and 
the  first  sight  of  Calais,  and  so  forth.  But  after  much  travel  or 
converse  with  the  world,  to  see  a  new  town  is  to  be  introduced  to 
Jones.  He  is  like  Brown  ;  he  is  not  unlike  Smith.  In  a  little 
while  you  hash  him  up  with  Thompson.  I  dare  not  be  particular, 
then,  regarding  Mr.  Firmin's  life  at  Tours,  lest  I  should  make 
topographical  errors,  for  which  the  critical  schoolmaster  would 
justly  inflict  chastisement.  In  the  last  novel  I  read  about  Tours, 
there  were  blunders  from  the  effect  of  which  you  know  the  wretched 
author  never  recovered.  It  was  by  one  Scott,  and  had  young 
Quentin  Durward  for  a  hero,  and  Isabel  de  Croye  for  a  heroine ; 
and  she  sat  in  her  hostel,  and  sang,  "  Ah,  County  Guy,  the  hour  is 
nigh."  A  pretty  ballad  enough  :  but  what  ignorance,  my  dear  sir  ! 
What  descriptions  of  Tours,  of  Lifege,  are  in  that  fallacious  story  ! 
Yes,  so  fallacious  and  misleading,  that  I  remember  I  was  sorry,  not 
because  the  description  was  unlike  Tours,  but  because  Tours  was 
unlike  the  description. 

So  Quentin  Firmin  went  and  put  up  at  the  snug  little  hostel  of 
the  "  Faisan  "  ;  and  Isabel  de  Baynes  took  up  her  abode  with  her 
uncle  the  Sire  de  MacWhirter ;  and  I  believe  Master  Firmin  had 
no  more  money  in  his  pocket  than  the  Master  Durward  whose  Btory 
the  Scottish  novelist  told  some  forty  years  since.  And  I  cannot 
promise  you  that  our  young  English  adventurer  shall  marry  a  noble 
lieiress  of  vast  property,  and  engage  the  Boar  of  Ardennes  in  a 
iiand-to-hand  combat ;  that  sort  of  Boar,  madam,  does  not  appear 
in  our  modern  drawing-room  histories.  Of  others,  not  wild,  there 
be  plenty.  They  gore  you  in  clubs.  They  seize  you  by  the  doublet, 
and  pin  you  against  posts  in  public  streets.  They  run  at  you  in 
parks.  I  have  seen  them  sit  at  bay  after  dinner,  ripping,  gashing, 
tossing  a  whole  company.  These  our  young  adventurer  had  in 
good  sooth  to  encounter,  as  is  the  case  with  most  knights.  Who 
escapes  thenr  1  I  remember  an  eminent  person  talking  to  me  about 
bores  for  two  hours  once.     Oh,  you  stupid  eminent  person  !     You 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     459 

never  knew  that  you  yourself  had  tusks,  little  eyes  in  your  hure  ; 
a  bristly  mane  to  cut  into  tooth-brushes ;  and  a  curly  tail !  I  have 
a  notion  that  the  multitude  of  bores  is  enormous  in  the  world.  If 
a  man  is  a  bore  iiiinself,  when  he  is  bored — and  you  can't  deny  tliis 
statement — tlien  what  am  I,  what  are  you,  what  your  father, 
grandfather,  son — all  your  amiable  acquaintance,  in  a  word  %  Of 
this  I  am  sure.  Rlajor  and  I\Irs.  MacWhirter  were  not  brilliant  in 
conversation.  What  would  you  and  I  do,  or  say,  if  we  listen  to 
the  tittle-tattle  of  Tours?  How  the  clergyman  was  certainly  too 
fond  of  cards,  and  going  to  the  cafe  ;  how  the  dinners  those  Popjoys 
gave  were  too  absurdly  ostentatious ;  and  Popjoy,  we  know,  in  the 
Bench  last  year.  How  Mrs.  Flights,  going  on  with  that  ]\Iajor  of 
French  Carabiniers,  was  really  too  &c.  &c.  "  How  could  I  endure 
those  people?"  Philij*  would  ask  himself,  when  talking  of  that 
personage  in  after  days,  as  he  loved  and  loves  to  do.  "  How  could 
I  endure  them,  I  say  ?  Mac  was  a  good  man ;  but  I  knew  secretly 
in  my  heart,  sir,  that  he  was  a  bore.  Well :  I  loved  him.  I  liked 
his  old  stories.  I  liked  his  bad  old  dinners  :  there  is  a  very  com- 
fortable Touraine  wine,  by  the  way — a  very  warming  little  wine, 
sir.  Mrs.  Mac  you  never  saw,  my  good  Mrs.  Pendennis.  Be  sure 
of  this,  you  never  would  have  liked  her.  Well,  I  did.  I  liked  her 
house,  though  it  was  damp,  in  a  damp  garden,  frequented  by  dull 
people.  I  should  like  t(j  go  and  see  that  old  house  now.  I  am 
perfectly  happy  with  my  Avife,  but  I  sometimes  go  away  from  her 
to  enjoy  the  luxury  of  living  over  our  old  days  again.  With  nothing 
in  the  world  but  an  allowance  which  was  precarious,  and  had  been 
spent  in  advance  ;  with  no  particular  plans  for  the  future,  and  a 
few  five-franc  pieces  for  the  present, — by  Jove,  sir,  how  did  I  dare 
to  be  so  happy  %  What  idiots  we  were,  my  love,  to  be  happy  at 
all !  We  were  mad  to  marry.  Don't  tell  me  :  with  a  purse  which 
didn't  contain  three  months'  consumittion,  would  we  dare  to  marry 
now  %  We  should  be  put  into  the  mad  ward  of  the  workhouse  : 
that  would  be  the  only  place  for  us.  Talk  about  trusting  in 
Heaven.  Stuff  and  nonsense,  ma'am  !  I  have  as  good  a  right  to 
go  and  buy  a  house  in  Belgrave  Scjuare,  and  trust  to  Heaven  for 
the  payment,  as  I  had  to  marry  when  I  did.  We  were  paupers, 
Mrs.  Char,  and  you  know  that  very  well  1  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  We  were  very  wrong  :  very  !  "  says  Mrs.  Charlotte, 
looking  up  to  her  chandelier  (which,  by  the  way,  is  of  very  hand- 
some Venetian  old  glass).  "  AVe  were  very  wrong,  were  not  we, 
my  dearest  % "  And  herewith  she  will  begin  to  kiss  and  fondle  two 
or  more  babies  that  disport  in  her  room,  as  if  two  or  more  babies  had 
anything  to  do  with  Philip's  argument,  that  a  man  has  no  right 
to  marry  who  has  no  j)retty  well-assured  means  of  keepijig  a  wife. 


460  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Here,  then,  by  the  hanks  of  Loire,  althougli  Phihp  had  but  a 
very  few  francs  in  his  pocket,  and  was  obliged  to  keep  a  sliarp 
look-out  on  his  expenses  at  the  Hotel  of  the  "  Golden  Pheasant,"  he 
passed  a  foi'tniglit  of  such  happiness  as  I,  for  my  part,  wish  to  all 
young  folks  who  read  his  veracious  history.  Though  he  was  so 
poor,  and  ate  and  drank  so  modestly  in  the  house,  the  maids, 
waiters,  the  landlady  of  the  "  Pheasant  "  were  as  civil  to  him — - 
yes,  as  civil  as  they  were  to  the  gouty  old  Marchioness  of  Carabas 
herself,  who  stayed  here  on  her  way  to  the  south,  occupied  the 
grand  apartments,  quarrelled  with  her  lodging,  dinner,  breakfast, 
bread-and-butter  in  general,  insulted  the  landlady  in  bad  French, 
and  only  paid  her  bill  under  compulsion.  Philip's  was  a  little  bill, 
but  he  paid  it  cheerfully.  He  gave  only  a  small  gratuity  to  the 
servants,  but  he  was  kind  and  hearty,  and  they  knew  he  was  poor. 
He  was  kind  and  hearty,  I  suppose,  because  he  was  so  happy.  I 
have  known  the  gentleman  to  be  by  no  means  civil ;  and  have  heard 
him  storm,  and  hector,  and  browbeat  landlord  and  waiters,  as 
fiercely  as  the  Marquis  of  Carabas  himself  But  now  Philip  the 
Bear  was  the  most  gentle  of  bears,  because  his  little  Charlotte  was 
leading  him. 

Away  with  trouble  and  doubt,  with  squeamish  pride  and  gloomy 
care  !  Philip  had  enough  money  for  a  fortnight,  during  which  Tom 
Glazier,  of  the  Monitor^  promised  to  supply  Philip's  letters  for  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette.  All  the  designs  of  France,  Spain,  Russia,  gave 
that  idle  "own  correspondent "  not  the  slightest  anxiety.  In  the 
morning  it  was  Miss  Baynes ;  in  the  afternoon  it  was  Miss  Baynes. 
At  six  it  was  dinner  and  Charlotte  ;  at  nine  it  was  Charlotte  and 
tea.  "Anyhow,  love-making  does  not  spoil  his  appetite,"  Major 
MacWhirter  correctly  remarked.  Indeed,  Philip  had  a  glorious 
appetite  ;  and  health  bloomed  in  Miss  Charlotte's  cheek,  and  beamed 
in  her  happy  little  heart.  Dr.  Firmin,  in  the  height  of  his  practice, 
never  completed  a  cure  more  skilfully  than  that  which  was  per- 
formed by  Dr.  Firmin,  junior. 

"  I  ran  the  tiling  so  close,  sir,"  I  remember  Philip  bawling 
out,  in  his  usual  energetic  way,  whilst  describing  this  period  of  his 
life's  greatest  happiness  to  his  biogra])her,  "  that  I  came  back  to 
Paris  outside  the  diligence,  and  had  not  money  enough  to  dine  on 
the  road.  But  I  bought  a  sausage,  sir,  and  a  bit  of  bread — and  a 
brutal  sausage  it  was,  sir — and  I  reached  my  lodgings  with  exactly 
two  sous  in  my  pocket."  Roger  Bontemps  himself  was  not  more 
content  than  our  easy  philosopher. 

So  Philip  and  Charlotte  ratified  and  sealed  a  treaty  of  Tours, 
which  they  determined  should  never  be  broken  by  either  party. 
Marry  without  papa's  consent  %     Oh,  never  !     Marry  anybody  but 


ON    HIS    AVAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     46l 

Philij)  ?  Oh,  never — never !  Not  if  she  lived  to  be  a  hundred, 
when  Philip  would  in  consequence  be  in  his  hunth'ed  and  ninth  or 
tenth  year,  would  this  young  Joan  have  any  but  her  present  Darby. 
Aunt  Mac,  though  she  may  not  have  been  tiie  most  accomj)lished  or 
highly-bred  of  ladies,  was  a  warm-hearted  and  affectionate  Aunt 
Mac.  She  caught  in  a  mild  form  the  fever  from  these  young  jjeople. 
She  had  not  much  to  leave,  and  Mac's  relations  would  want  all  he 
could  spare  when  he  was  gone.  But  Charlotte  should  have  her 
garnets,  and  her  teapot,  and  her  India  shawl — that  she  should.* 
And  with  many  blessings  this  enthusiastic  old  lady  took  leave  of 
her  future  nei)hew-in-law  when  he  returned  to  Paris  and  duty. 
Ci'ack  your  whip,  and  scream  your  Id  I  and  be  off  quick,  postillion 
and  diligence  !  I  am  glad  we  have  taken  Mr.  Firmin  out  of  that 
dangerous,  lazy,  love-making  place.  Nothing  is  to  me  so  sweet 
as  sentimental  writing.  I  could  have  written  hundreds  of  pages 
describing  Philij)  and  Charlotte,  Charlotte  and  Philip.  But  a  stern 
sense  of  duty  intervenes.  My  modest  Muse  puts  a  finger  on  her 
lip,  and  says,  "  Hush  about  that  business  ! "  Ah,  my  worthy 
liiends,  you  little  know  what  soft-hearted  people  those  cynics  are  ! 
If  you  could  have  come  on  Diogenes  by  surprise,  I  daresay  you 
might  have  found  him  reading  sentimental  novels  and  whimpering 
in  his  tub.  Philip  shall  leave  his  sweetheart  and  go  back  to  his 
business,  and  we  will  not  have  one  word  about  tears,  promises, 
raptures,  parting.  Never  mind  about  these  sentimentalities,  but 
])lease  rather  to  depict  to  yourself  our  young  fellow  so  poor  that 
when  the  coach  stops  for  dinner  at  Orleans  he  can  only  afford  to 
purchase  a  ])enny  loaf  and  a  sausage  for  his  own  hungry  cheek. 
When  he  reached  the  "  Hot(;l  Poussiu  "  with  his  meagre  carpet-bag, 
they  served  him  a  supper  which  he  ate  to  the  admiration  of  all 
beholders  in  the  little  coffee-room.  He  was  in  great  spirits  and 
gaiety.  He  did  not  care  to  make  any  secret  of  his  poverty,  and 
how  he  had  been  unable  to  aff"ord  to  pay  for  dinner.  Most  of  the 
guests  at  "  Hotel  Poussin  "  knew  what  it  was  to  be  i)oor.  Often 
and  often  they  had  dined  on  credit  when  they  put  back  their  nap- 
kins into  their  respective  pigeon-holes.  But  my  landlord  knew  his 
guests.  They  w^re  poor  men — honest  men.  They  paid  him  in  the 
end,  and  each  could  help  his  neighbour  in  a  strait. 

After  Mr.  Firmin's  return  to  Paris,  he  did  not  care  for  a  while 
to  go  to  the  Elysian  Fields.  They  were  not  Elysian  for  him, 
except  in  INIiss  Charlottes  company.     He  resumed  his  nowspajier 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  in  later  days,  after  Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter's 
decease,  it  was  found  that  she  had  promised  these  treasures  //(  v:ritinii  to 
several  niemhers  of  her  hushanil's  family,  and  that  iiiiich  hoart-hurnitig  arose 
in  consequence.     But  our  story  has  nothing  to  do  with  these  painful  disputes. 


462  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

correspondence,  which  occupied  but  a  day  in  each  week,  and  he 
had  the  other  six — nay,  he  scribbled  on  the  seventh  day  Hkewise, 
and  covered  immense  sheets  of  letter-paper  with  remarks  upon  all 
manner  of  subjects,  addressed  to  a  certain  Mademoiselle,  Made- 
moiselle Baynes,  chez  M.  le  Major  Mac,  &c.  On  these  sheets  of 
paper  Mr.  Firmin  could  talk  so  long,  so  loudly,  so  fervently,  so 
eloquently  to  Miss  Baynes,  that  she  was  never  tired  of  hearing,  or 
he  of  holding  forth.  He  began  imparting  his  dreams  and  his  earliest 
sensations  to  his  beloved  before  breakfast.  At  noon-day  he  gave 
her  his  opinion  of  the  contents  of  the  morning  papers.  His  packet 
was  ordinarily  full  and  brimming  over  by  post  time,  so  that  his 
expressions  of  love  and  fidelity  leaked  from  under  the  cover,  or  were 
squeezed  into  the  queerest  corners,  where,  no  doubt,  it  was  a  delight- 
ful task  for  Miss  Baynes  to  trace  out  and  detect  those  little  Cupids 
which  a  faithful  lover  despatched  to  her.  It  would  bey  "  I  have 
found  this  little  corner  unoccupied.  Do  you  know  what  I  have  to 
say  in  it  1  Oh,  Charlotte,  I,"  &c.  &c.  My  sweet  young  lady,  you 
can  guess,  or  will  one  day  guess,  the  rest ;  and  will  receive  such 
dear,  delightful,  nonsensical  double  letters,  and  will  answer  them 
with  that  elegant  propriety  which  I  have  no  doubt  Miss  Baynes 
showed  in  her  replies.  Ah  !  if  all  who  are  writing  and  receiving 
such  letters,  or  who  have  wi'itten  and  received  such,  or  who  remem- 
ber writing  and  receiving  such  letters,  would  order  a  copy  of  this 
novel  from  the  pulilishers,  what  reams,  and  piles,  and  pyramids  of 
paper  our  ink  would  have  to  blacken !  Since  Charlotte  and  Philip 
had  been  engaged  to  each  other,  he  had  scarcely,  except  in  those 
dreadful  ghastly  days  of  quarrel,  enjoyed  the  luxury  of  absence 
from  his  soul's  blessing — the  exquisite  delights  of  writing  to  her.  He 
could  do  few  things  in  moderation,  this  man — and  of  this  delightful 
privilege  of  writing  to  Charlotte  he  now  enjoyed  his  heart's  fill. 

After  brief  enjoyment  of  the  weeks  of  this  rapture,  when  winter 
was  come  on  Paris,  and  icicles  hung  on  the  bough,  how  did  it 
happen  that  one  day,  two  days,  three  days  passed,  and  the  postman 
brought  no  little  letter  in  the  well-known  little  handwriting  for 
Monsieur,  Monsieur  Philip  Firmin,  k  Paris  ?  Three  days,  four  days, 
and  no  letter.  0  torture,  could  she  be  ill?  Could  her  aunt  and 
uncle  have  turned  against  her,  and  forbi<lden  her  to  write,  as  her 
father  and  mother  had  done  before  1  0  grief,  and  sorrow,  and  rage  ! 
As  for  jealousy,  our  leonine  friend  never  knew  such  a  ijassion.  It 
never  entered  into  his  lordly  heart  to  doubt  of  his  little  maiden's  love. 
But  still  four,  five  days  have  passed,  and  not  one  word  has  come 
from  Tours.  The  little  "  Hotel  Poussin  "  was  in  a  commotion.  I 
have  said  that  when  our  friend  felt  any  passion  very  strongly  he 
was  sure  to  speak  of  it.     Did  Don  Quixote  lose  any  opportunity  of 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     46,3 

declaring  to  the  world  that  Dulcinea  del  Toboso  was  peerless  among 
women  1  Did  not  Antar  bawl  out  in  battle,  "  I  am  the  lover  of 
Ibla"?  Our  knight  had  taken  all  the  people  of  the  hotel  into  his 
confidence  somehow.  They  all  knew  of  his  condition — all,  the 
jjainter,  the  poet,  the  half-pay  Polish  officer,  the  landlord,  the 
hostess,  down  to  the  little  knife-boy  who  used  to  come  in  with, 
"  The  factor  comes  of  to  pass — no  letter  this  morning." 

No  doubt  Pliilip's  political  letters  became,  luider  this  outward 
pressure,  very  desponding  and  gloomy.  One  day,  as  lie  sat  gnawing 
his  moustaches  at  his  desk,  the  little  Anatole  enters  his  apartment 
and  cries,  "  Tenez,  M.  Philippe.  That  lady  again  ! "  And  the 
faithful,  tlie  wateliful,  the  active  Madame  Smolensk  once  more  made 
lier  appearance  in  his  chamber. 

Philip  blushed  and  hung  Ids  head  for  shame.  "  Ungrateful 
brute  that  I  am,"  he  thought  :  "  I  have  been  back  more  than  a 
week,  and  never  thought  a  bit  about  that  good  kind  soul  who  came 
to  my  succour.     I  am  an  awful  egotist.     Love  is  always  so." 

As  he  rose  up  to  greet  his  friend,  she  looked  so  grave,  and  pale, 
and  sad,  that  lie  could  not  but  note  her  demeanour.  "  Bon  Dieu  ! 
had  anything  happened  1 " 

"  Ce  pauvre  Gdn^ral  is  ill,  very  ill,  Philip,"  Smolensk  said,  in 
her  grave  voice. 

He  was  so  gravely  ill,  Madame  said,  that  his  daughter  had  been 
sent  for. 

"  Had  she  come  1 "  asked  Philip,  with  a  start. 

"  You  think  but  of  her — you  care  not  for  the  poor  old  man. 
You  are  all  the  same,  you  men.  All  egotists — all.  Go  !  I  know 
you  !     I  never  knew  one  that  was  not,"  said  Madame. 

Phili])  has  his  little  faults  ;  perhaps  egotism  is  one  of  his  defects. 
Perhaps  it  is  yotu-s,  or  even  mine. 

"  You  have  been  here  a  week  since  Thursday  last,  and  you  have 
never  written  or  sent  to  a  woman  wlio  loves  you  well.  Go !  It 
was  not  well.  Monsieur  Philippe." 

As  soon  as  he  saw  her,  Philip  felt  that  he  had  been  neglectful 
and  ungrateful.  We  have  owned  so  much  already.  But  how 
should  Madame  know  that  he  had  returned  on  Thursday  week  1 
When  they  looked  up  after  her  reproof.  Ids  eager  eyes  seemed  to 
ask  this  question. 

"  Co\)ld  she  not  write  to  me  and  tell  me  that  you  were  come 
back  1  Perhaps  she  knew  that  you  would  not  do  so  yourself.  A 
woman's  licart  teafhes  her  these  experiences  early,"  continued  the 
lady  sadly.  Then  she  added :  "  I  tell  you,  you  are  good-for- 
nothings,  all  of  you  !  And  I  rei)eiit  me,  see  you,  of  having  had 
the  betisc  to  pity  you  !  " 


464  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

"  I  shall  have  my  quarter's  pay  on  Saturday.  I  was  coming 
to  you  then,"  said  Philip. 

"Was  it  that  I  was  speaking  of?  Wliat !  you  are  all  cowards, 
men  all !  Oh,  that  I  have  been  beast,  beast,  to  think  at  last  I 
had  found  a  man  of  heart !  " 

How  much  or  how  often  this  poor  Ariadne  had  trusted  and 
been  forsaken,  I  have  no  means  of  knowing,  or  desire  of  inquiring. 
Perhaps  it  is  as  well  for  the  polite  reader,  who  is  taken  into  my 
entire  confidence,  that  we  should  not  know  Madame  de  Smolensk's 
liistory  from  the  first  page  to  the  last.  Granted  that  Ariadne  was 
deceived  by  Theseus :  but  then  she  consoled  herself,  as  we  may 
all  read  in  "  Smith's  Dictionary  "  ;  and  then  she  must  have  deceived 
her  father  in  order  to  run  away  with  Theseus,  I  suspect— I  sus- 
pect, I  say,  that  these  women  who  are  so  very  much  betrayed,  are 

but  we  are  speculating  on  this  French  lady's  antecedents,  when 

Charlotte,  her  lover,  and  her  family  are  the  persons  with  whom  we 
have  mainly  to  do. 

These  two,  I  suppose,  forgot  self,  about  whicli  each  for  a 
moment  had  been  busy,  and  Madame  resumed  : — "  Yes,  you  have 
reason ;  Miss  is  here.  It  was  time.  Hold  !  Here  is  a  note  from 
her."  And  Philip's  kind  messenger  once  more  put  a  paper  into 
his  hands. 

"  My  dearest  father  is  very  very  ill.  Oh,  Philip  !  I  am  so 
unhappy ;  and  he  is  so  good,  and  gentle,  and  kind,  and  loves 
me  so  !  " 

"  It  is  true,"  Madame  resumed.  "  Before  Cliarlotte  came,  he 
thouglit  only  of  her.  When  his  wife  comes  up  to  him,  he  turns 
from  her.  I  have  not  loved  her  much,  that  lady,  that  is  true. 
But  to  see  her  now,  it  is  navrant.  He  will  take  no  medicine  from 
her.  He  pushes  her  away.  Before  Charlotte  came,  he  sent  for 
me,  and  spoke  as  well  as  his  poor  throat  would  let  him,  this  poor 
General !  His  daughter's  arrival  seemed  to  comfort  him.  But  he 
says,  '  Not  my  wife  !  not  my  wife  ! '  And  the  poor  thing  has  to 
go  away  and  cry  in  the  chamber  at  the  side.  He  says — in  his 
French,  you  know — -he  has  never  been  well  since  Charlotte  went 
away.  He  has  often  been  out.  He  lias  dined  but  rarely  at  our 
table,  and  there  has  always  been  a  silence  between  him  and  Madame 
la  Gdnerale.  Last  week  he  had  a  great  inftammation  of  the  chest. 
Then  he  took  to  bed,  and  Monsieur  the  Docteur  came — -the  little 
doctor  whom  you  know.  Then  a  quinsy  has  declared  itself,  and 
he  now  is  scarce  able  to  speak.  His  condition  is  most  grave.  He 
lies  suffering,  dying,  perliaps — yes,  dying,  do  you  hear?  And  you 
are  thinking  of  your  little  schoolgirl  !  Men  are  all  the  same. 
Monsters  !     Go  !  " 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     465 

Phili]),  who,  I  have  said,  is  very  fond  of  talking  about  Philip, 
surveys  his  own  faults  witli  great  magnanimity  and  good-humour, 
and  acknowledges  them  without  the  least  intention  to  correct  them. 
"  How  selfish  we  are  ! "  I  can  hear  him  say,  looking  at  himself  in 
tlie  glass.  "  By  George !  sir,  when  I  heard  sinudtaneously  the 
news  of  that  poor  old  man's  illness,  and  of  Charlotte's  return,  I 
felt  that  I  wanted  to  see  her  th:it  instant.  I  must  go  to  her,  and 
si)eak  to  her.  Tlie  old  man  and  liis  suffering  did  not  seem  to  affect 
me.     It  is  humiliating  to  have  to  own  that  we  are  selfish  beasts. 

But  we  are,  sir — we  are  brutes,  by  George  !  and  nothing  else."- 

And  lie  gives  a  finishing  twist  to  the  ends  of  his  flauiing  moustaches 
as  he  surveys  them  in  the  glass. 

Poor  little  Charlotte  was  in  such  affliction  that  of  course  she 
must  have  Philip  to  console  her  at  once.  No  time  was  to  be  lost. 
Quick  !  a  cab  this  moment :  and,  coachman,  you  shall  have  an 
extra  for  drink  if  you  go  ijuick  to  the  Avenue  de  Valmy  !  Madame 
puts  herself  into  the  carriage,  and  as  they  go  along,  tells  Pliilij) 
more  at  length  of  the  gloomy  occurrences  of  the  last  few  days. 
Four  days  since  the  poor  General  was  so  bad  with  his  quinsy  that 
he  thought  he  should  not  recover,  and  Charlotte  was  sent  for.  He 
was  a  little  better  on  the  day  of  her  arrival ;  but  yesterday  the 
inflammation  had  increased ;  he  could  not  swallow ;  he  could  not 
speak  audibly  •  he  was  in  very  great  suffering  and  danger.  He 
turned  away  from  his  wife.  The  unhapi)y  Gcneraless  had  been 
to  Madame  Bunch,  in  her  tears  and  grief,  complaining  that  after 
twenty  years'  fidelity  and  attachment  her  husband  had  withdrawn 
his  regard  from  her.  Baynes  attributed  even  his  illness  to  his 
wife ;  and  at  other  times  said  it  was  a  just  })unishment  for  liis 
wicked  conduct  in  breaking  his  word  to  Phili])  and  Charlotte.  If 
lie  did  not  see  his  dear  child  again  he  must  beg  her  forgiveness 
for  having  made  her  sufi'er  so.  He  had  acted  wickedly  and  un- 
gratefully, and  his  wife  had  forced  him  to  do  what  he  did.  He 
prayed  that  Heaven  might  pardon  him.  And  he  had  behaved 
with  wicked  injustice  towards  Philip,  who  had  acted  most  gener- 
ously towards  his  family.  And  \w  had  been  a  scoundrel — he  knew 
he  had — and  Bunch,  and  MacWhirter,  and  the  Doctor  all  said  so — 
and  it  was  that  woman's  doing.  And  he  jwinted  to  the  scared 
wife  as  lie  painfully  hissed  out  these  words  of  anger  and  contrition  : 
—  "When  I  saw  that  child  ill,  and  almost  made  mad,  liecause  I 
broke  my  word,  I  felt  I  was  a  scoundrel,  Martin  :  and  I  was  ;  and 
that  woman  made  me  so ;  and  I  deserve  to  be  shot ;  and  I  shan't 
recover  ;  I  tell  you  I  shan't."  Dr.  Martin,  who  atteiidccl  tlie 
General,  thus  described  his  patient's  last  talk  and  behaviniir  to 
Philip. 


466  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

It  was  the  Doctor  who  sent  Madame  in  quest  of  the  young  man. 
He  found  poor  Mrs.  Baynes  with  hot  tearless  eyes  and  livid  face, 
a  wretched  sentinel  outside  tlie  sick  chamber.  "  You  will  find 
General  Baynes  very  ill,  sir,"  she  said  to  Philip  with  a  ghastly 
calmness,  and  a  gaze  he  could  scarcely  face.  "  My  daughter  is  in 
the  room  with  him.  It  appeai-s  I  have  offended  him,  and  he  refuses 
to  see  me."  And  she  squeezed  a  dry  handkerchief  which  she  held, 
and  put  on  her  spectacles  again,  and  tried  again  to  read  the  Bible  in 
her  lap. 

Philip  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of  Mrs.  Baynes's  words  as  yet. 
He  was  agitated  by  the  thought  of  the  General's  illness,  perhaps  by 
the  notion  that  the  beloved  was  so  near.  Her  hand  was  in  his  a 
moment  afterwards  ;  and,  even  in  that  sad  chamber,  each  could  give 
the  other  a  soft  pressure,  a  fond  silent  signal  of  mutual  love  and 
faith. 

The  poor  man  laid  the  hands  of  the  young  people  together, 
and  his  own  upon  them.  The  suffering  to  which  he  had  put  his 
daughter  seemed  to  be  the  crime  which  specially  affected  him.  He 
thanked  Heaven  he  was  able  to  see  he  was  wrong.  He  whispered 
to  his  little  maid  a  prayer  for  pardon  in  one  or  two  words,  which 
caused  poor  Charlotte  to  sink  on  her  knees  and  cover  his  fevered 
hand  with  tears  and  kisses.  Out  of  all  her  heart  she  forgave  him. 
She  had  felt  that  the  parent  she  loved  and  was  accustomed  to 
honour  had  been  mercenary  and  cruel.  It  had  wounded  her  pure 
heart  to  be  obliged  to  think  that  her  father  could  be  other  than 
generous,  and  just,  and  good.  That  he  should  humble  himself 
before  her,  smote  her  with  the  keenest  pang  of  tender  commisera- 
tion. I  do  not  care  to  pursue  this  last  scene.  Let  us  close  the 
door  as  the  children  kneel  by  the  sufferer's  bedside,  and  to  the  old 
man's  petition  for  forgiveness,  and  to  the  young  girl's  sobbing  vows 
of  love  and  fondness,  say  a  reverent  Amen. 

By  the  following  letter,  which  lie  wrote  a  few  days  before  the 
fatal  termination  of  his  illness,  the  worthy  General,  it  would  appear, 
had  already  despaired  of  his  recovery  : — 

"  My  dear  Mac, — I  speak  and  breathe  with  such  difl5culty  as  I 
write  this  from  my  bed,  that  I  doubt  whether  I  shall  ever  leave  it. 
I  do  not  wish  to  vex  poor  Eliza,  and  in  my  state  cannot  enter  into 
disputes  which  I  know  would  ensue  regarding  settlement  of  property. 
When  I  left  England  there  Avas  a  claim  hanging  over  me  (young 
Firmin's)  at  which  I  was  needlessly  frightened,  as  having  to  satisfy 
it  would  swallow  up  much  more  than  everything  1 2)ossessed  in  the 
world.  Hence  made  arrangements  for  leavintr  everything  in  Eliza's 
name  and  the  children  after.       Will  with  Smith  and  Thompson, 


AT    TIIK    SICK    man's    DOOR. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     467 

Raymond  Buildings,  Gray's  Inn.  Think  Char  tvon''t  he  hapjnj  for 
a  long  time  with  her  viother.  To  break  from  F.,  who  has  been 
most  generous  to  us,  will  break  her  heart.  W^ill  you  and  Emily 
keep  her  for  a  little  ?  I  gave  F.  my  jivoviise.  As  you  told  me,  I 
have  acted  ill  by  him,  which  I  own  and  deeply  lament.  If  Char 
marries,  she  ought  to  have  her  share.  May  God  bless  her,  her 
father  prays,  in  case  he  should  not  see  her  again.  And  with  best 
love  to  Emily,  am  yours,  dear  Mac,  sincerely, 

"Charles  Baynes." 

On  the  receipt  of  this  letter,  Charlotte  disobeyed  her  father's 
wish,  and  set  forth  from  Tours  instantly,  under  her  worthy  uncle's 
guardianship.  The  old  soldier  was  in  his  comrade's  room  when  the 
General  put  tlie  hands  of  Charlotte  and  her  lover  together.  He 
confessed  his  fault,  though  it  is  hard  for  those  who  expect  love  and 
reverence  to  have  to  own  to  wrong  and  to  ask  pardon.  Old  knees 
are  stiff  to  bend  :  brother  reader,  young  or  old,  when  our  last  hour 
comes,  may  ours  have  grace  to  do  so. 


CHAPTER   XXX 

RETURNS    TO  OLD  FRIENDS 

THE  three  old  comrades  and  Philip  formed  the  little  mourning 
procession  which  followed  the  General  to  his  jihice  of  rest  at 
Montmartre.  When  the  service  has  been  read,  and  the  last 
volley  has  been  fired  over  the  buried  soldier,  the  troops  marcli  to 
quarters  with  a  quick  step,  and  to  a  lively  tune.  Our  veteran  has 
been  laid  in  the  grave  with  brief  ceremonies.  We  do  not  even 
prolong  his  obsequies  with  a  sermon.  His  place  knows  him  no 
longer.  There  are  a  few  wlio  remember  him  :  a  very  very  few  who 
grieve  for  him— so  few  that  to  think  of  them  is  a  liumiliation 
almost.  The  sun  sets  on  the  earth,  and  our  dear  brother  has 
departed  off  its  face.  Stars  twinkle;  dews  fall;  children  go  to 
sleep  in  awe  and,  maybe,  tears ;  tlie  sun  rises  on  a  new  day,  which 
he  has  never  seen,  and  children  wake  hungry.  They  are  interested 
about  their  new  black  clothes,  perhaps.  They  are  presently  at 
their  work,  plays,  quarrels.  They  are  looking  forwai-d  to  the  day 
when  the  holidays  will  be  over,  and  the  eyes  which  shone  here 
yesterday  so  kindly  are  gone,  gone,  gone.  A  drive  to  the  cemetery, 
followed  by  a  coach  with  four  acquaintances  dressed  in  decorous 
black,  who  separate  and  go  to  their  homes  or  clubs,  and  wear  your 
crape  for  a  few  days  after— can  most  of  us  expect  much  more  1  The 
thought  is  not  ennobling  or  exhilarating,  worthy  sir.  And,  pray, 
why  should  we  be  proud  of  ourselves  ?  Is  it  because  we  have  been 
so  good,  or  are  so  wise  and  great,  that  we  expect  to  be  beloved, 
lamented,  remembered  ?  Why,  great  Xerxes  or  blustering  Bobadil 
must  know  in  that  last  hour  and  resting-place  how  abject,  how 
small,  ho\v^  low,  how  lonely  they  are,  and  what  a  little  dust  will 
cover  them.  Quick,  drums  and  fifes,  a  lively  tune  !  Whip  the 
black  team,  coachman,  and  trot  back  to  town  again — to  the  world, 
and  to  business,  and  duty  ! 

I  am  for  saying  no  single  unkindness  of  General  Baynes  which 
is  not  forced  upon  me  by  my  story-teller's  ofllce.  We  know  from 
Marlborough's  story  that  the  bravest  man  and  greatest  military 
genius  is  not  always  brave  or  successful  in  his  battles  with  his  wife  ; 
that  some  of  the  greatest  warriors  have  committed  errors  in  accounts 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     469 

and  the  distrihution  of  rneum  .'ind  tuum.  We  can't  disguise  from 
ourselves  the  fact  that  Bayues  pernntted  himself  to  be  misled,  and 
had  weaknesses  not  quite  consistent  with  tlie  highest  virtue. 

When  he  became  aware  that  his  carelessness  in  the  matter  of 
Mrs.  Firmin's  trust  money  had  placed  him  in  her  son's  power,  we 
have  seen  how  the  old  General,  in  order  to  avoid  being  called  to 
account,  fled  across  the  water  with  his  family  and  all  his  little 
fortune,  and  how  terrified  he  was  on  landing  on  a  foreign  shore  to 
find  himself  face  to  face  with  this  dreadful  creditor.  Philip's 
renunciation  of  all  claims  against  Baynes  sootlied  and  pleased  the 
old  man  wonderfully.  But  Pliilii)  might  change  his  mind,  an 
adviser  at  Baynes's  side  repeatedly  urged.  To  live  abroad  was 
cheaper  and  safer  than  to  live  at  home.  Accordingly  Baynes,  his 
wife,  family,  and  money,  all  went  into  exile,  and  remained  there. 

What  savings  the  old  man  had  I  don't  accurately  know.  He 
and  his  wife  were  very  dark  upon  this  subject  with  Philip  :  and 
when  the  General  died,  his  widow  declared  herself  to  be  almost  a 
pauper  !  It  was  impossible  that  Baynes  should  have  left  much 
money ;  but  that  Charlotte's  share  should  have  amounted  to — that 
sum  which  may  or  may  not  presently  be  stated — was  a  little  too 
absurd  !  You  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Firmin  are  travelling  abroad  just 
now.  When  I  wrote  to  Fimiin,  to  ask  if  I  might  mention  the 
amount  of  Ins  wife's  fortune,  he  gave  me  no  answer ;  nor  do  I  like 
to  enter  upon  these  matters  of  calculation  without  his  explicit 
permission.  He  is  of  a  hot  temper;  he  might,  on  his  return,  grow 
angi-y  with  the  friend  of  his  youth,  and  say,  "  Sir,  how  dare  you  to 
talk  about  my  i)rivate  affairs?  and  what  has  the  jjulilic  to  do  with 
Mrs.  Firnun's  private  fortune  1 " 

When,  the  last  rites  over,  good-natured  Uncle  Mac  proposed  to 
take  Charlotte  back  to  Tours,  lier  mother  made  no  objection.  The 
widow  had  tried  to  do  the  girl  such  an  injury,  that  ]»erha]ts  the 
latter  felt  forgiveness  was  impossible.  Little  Char  loved  Philip 
with  all  her  \w\wt  and  strength  ;  liad  been  authorised  and  encouraged 
to  do  so,  as  we  have  seen.  To  give  him  up  now,  because  a  richer 
suitor  presented  himself,  was  an  act  of  treason  from  which  her 
faithful  heart  revolted,  and  she  never  could  pardon  the  instigator. 
You  see,  in  this  8im])le  story,  I  scarcely  care  even  to  have  reticence 
or  secrets.  I  dun't  want  you  to  understand  for  a  moment  that 
Walsingham  Hcly  Mas  still  crying  his  eyes  out  about  Charlotte. 
Goodness  bless  you  !  It  was  two  or  three  weeks  ago — four  or  five 
weeks  ago,  tliat  he  was  in  love  with  her  !  He  had  not  seen  the 
Duchesse  d'lvry  then,  about  whom  you  may  remember  he  had  the 
«|uarrel  with  Podichon,  at  the  chd)  in  the  Rue  de  Grammont.  (He 
and  the  Uuchesse  wrote  poems  to  each  other,  each  in  the  other's 


470  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

native  language.)  The  Charlotte  had  long  passed  out  of  the  young 
fellow's  mind.  That  butterfly  had  fluttered  otf  from  our  English 
rosebud,  and  had  settled  on  the  other  elderly  flower  !  I  don't  know 
that  Mrs.  Baynes  was  aware  of  young  Hely's  fickleness  at  this 
present  time  of  which  we  are  writing ;  but  his  visits  had  ceased, 
and  she  was  angry  and  disappointed  ;  and  not  the  less  angry  because 
her  labour  had  been  in  vain.  On  her  part,  Charlotte  could  also  be 
resolutely  unforgiving.  Take  her  Philip  from  her  !  Never,  never  ! 
Her  mother  force  her  to  give  up  the  man  whom  she  had  been 
encouraged  to  love  ?  Mamma  should  have  defended  Philip,  not 
betrayed  him  !  If  I  command  my  son  to  steal  a  spoon,  shall  he 
obey  me  ]  And  if  he  do  obey  and  steal,  and  be  transported,  will  he 
love  me  afterwards  ?  I  think  I  can  hardly  ask  for  so  much  filial 
aff"ection. 

So  there  was  strife  between  mother  and  daughter ;  and  anger 
not  the  less  bitter,  on  Mrs.  Baynes's  part,  because  her  husband, 
whose  cupidity  or  fear  had,  at  fii'st,  induced  him  to  take  her  side, 
had  deserted  her  and  gone  over  to  her  daughter.  In  the  anger  of 
that  controversy  Baynes  died,  leaving  the  victory  and  right  with 
Charlotte.  He  shrank  from  his  wife  :  would  not  speak  to  her  in 
his  last  moments.  The  widow  had  these  injuries  against  her 
daughter  and  Philip  :  and  thus  neither  side  forgave  the  other. 
She  was  not  averse  to  the  child's  going  away  to  her  uncle :  put  a 
lean  hungry  face  against  Charlotte's  lip,  and  received  a  kiss  which 
I  fear  had  but  little  love  in  it.  I  don't  envy  those  children  who 
remain  under  tlie  widow's  lonely  command ;  or  poor  Madame 
Smolensk,  who  has  to  endure  the  arrogance,  the  grief,  the  avarice 
of  that  grim  woman.  Nor  did  Madame  suffer  under  this  tyranny 
long.  Galignanis  Messenger  very  soon  announced  that  she  had 
lodgings  to  let,  and  I  remember  being  edified  by  reading  one  day 
in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  that  elegant  ajiartments,  select  society, 
and  an  excellent  table  were  to  be  found  in  one  of  the  most  airy  and 
fashionable  quarters  of  Paris.  Inquire  of  Madame  la  Baronne  de 
S sk.  Avenue  de  Valmy,  Champs  Elyse'es. 

We  guessed  without  difficulty  how  this  advertisement  found 
its  way  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  ;  and  very  soon  after  its  appear- 
ance Madame  de  Smolensk's  friend,  Mr.  Philip,  made  his  ajjpearance 
at  our  tea-table  in  London.  He  was  always  welcome  amongst  us 
elders  and  children.  He  wore  a  crape  on  his  hat.  As  soon  as  the 
young  ones  were  gone,  you  may  be  sure  he  poured  his  story  out ; 
and  enlarged  upon  the  death,  the  burial,  the  quarrels,  the  loves, 
the  partings  we  have  narrated.  How  could  he  be  i)ut  in  a  way  to 
earn  three  or  four  hundred  a  year?  That  was  the  present  question. 
Ere  he  came  to  see  us,  he  had  already  been  totting  up  ways  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     471 

means.  He  had  been  with  our  friend  Mrs.  Brandon  :  was  staying 
with  her.  The  Little  Sister  thought  three  hundred  would  be 
sufficient.  Tliey  could  have  her  second  floor — not  for  nothing ; 
no,  no,  but  at  a  moderate  price,  which  would  pay  her.  They  could 
have  attics,  if  more  rooms  were  needed.  They  could  have  her 
kitchen  fire,  and  one  maid,  for  the  present,  would  do  all  their  work. 
Poor  little  thing !  She  was  very  young.  She  would  be  past 
eighteen  by  the  time  she  could  marry ;  the  Little  Sister  was  for 
early  marriages,  against  long  courtships.  "  Heaven  helps  those  as 
helps  themselves,"  slie  said.  And  I\Ir.  Philip  thought  this  excellent 
advice,  and  Mr.  Pliilip's  friend,  when  asked  for  Ids  opinion — 
"Candidly  now,  what's  your  opinion?" — said,  "  Ls  she  in  the  next 
room  ?     Of  course  you  mean  you  are  married  already." 

Philip  roared  one  of  his  great  laughs.  No,  he  was  not  married 
already.  Had  he  not  said  that  Miss  Baynes  was  gone  away  to 
Tours  to  her  aunt  and  uncle  1  But  that  lie  wanted  to  be  married  ; 
but  that  he  could  never  settle  down  to  work  till  he  married ;  but 
that  he  could  have  no  rest,  peace,  health  till  he  married  that  angel, 
he  was  ready  to  confess.  Ready  1  All  the  street  might  hear  him 
calling  out  the  name  and  expatiating  on  the  angelic  charms  and 
goodness  of  his  Charlotte.  He  spoke  so  loud  and  long  on  this 
subject  that  my  wife  grew  a  little  tired ;  and  my  wife  always  likes 
to  hear  other  women  jmused,  that  (she  says)  I  know  she  does. 
But  when  a  man  goes  on  roaring  for  an  hour  about  Dulcinea  1 
You  know  such  talk  becomes  fulsome  at  last ;  and,  in  tine,  when 
he  was  gone,  my  wife  said,  "Well,  he  is  very  much  in  love;  so 
were  you — I  mean  long  before  my  time,  sir ;  but  does  love  pay  the 
housekeeping  bills,  pray  1 " 

"  No,  my  dear.  And  love  is  always  controlled  by  other 
people's  advice : — always,"  says  Philip's  friend ;  who,  I  hope,  you 
will  perceive  was  speaking  ironically. 

Philip's  friends  had  listened  not  impatiently  to  Phili])'s  talk 
about  Philip.  Almost  all  women  will  give  a  sympathising  hearing 
tt)  men  who  are  in  love.  Be  they  ever  so  old,  they  grow  young 
again  with  that  conversation,  and  renew  their  own  early  times. 
Men  are  not  quite  so  generous  :  Tityrus  tires  of  hearing  Corydon 
discourse  endlessly  on  the  charms  of  his  shepherdess.  And  yet 
egotism  is  good  talk.  Even  dull  autobiographies  are  pleasant  to 
read:  and  if  to  read,  why  not  to  heart  Had  Master  Philip  not 
been  such  an  egotist,  he  would  not  have  been  so  pleasant  a 
companion.  Can't  you  like  a  man  at  whom  you  laugh  a  little  ? 
I  had  rather  such  an  open-mouthed  conversationist  than  your 
cautious  jaws  that  never  unlock  without  a  careful  application  of 
the  key.     As  for  the  entrance  to  Mr.  Philip's  mind,  tliat  door  was 


472  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

always  open  when  he  was  awake,  or  not  hungry,  or  in  a  friend's 
company.  Besides  his  love,  and  his  prospects  in  life,  his  poverty, 
&c.,  Philip  had  other  favourite  topics  of  conversation.  His  friend 
the  Little  Sister  was  a  great  theme  with  him  ;  his  father  was 
another  favourite  subject  of  his  talk.  By  the  way,  his  father  had 
written  to  the  Little  Sister.  The  Doctor  said  he  was  sure  to 
prosper  in  his  newly-adopted  country.  He  and  another  physician 
had  invented  a  new  medicine,  which  was  to  effect  wonders,  and  in 
a  few  years  would  assuredly  make  the  fortune  of  both  of  them. 
He  was  never  without  one  scheme  or  another  for  making  that 
fortune  which  never  came.  Whenever  he  drew  upon  poor  Phili[} 
for  little  sums,  his  letters  were  sure  to  be  especially  magniloquent 
and  hopeful.  "  Wlienever  the  Doctor  says  he  has  invented  the 
pliilosopher's  stone,"  said  poor  Philip,  "  I  am  sure  there  will  be  a 
postscript  to  say  that  a  little  bill  will  be  presented  for  so  much,  at 
so  many  days'  date." 

Had  hQ  drawn  on  Philip  lately?  Philip  told  us  when,  and 
how  often.  We  gave  him  all  the  benefit  of  our  virtuous  indignation. 
As  for  my  wife's  eyes,  they  gleamed  with  anger.  What  a  man  : 
what  a  father  \  Oh,  he  was  incorrigible  !  "  Yes,  I  am  afraid  he 
is,"  says  poor  Phil  comically,  with  his  hands  roaming  at  ease  in 
his  pockets.  They  contained  little  else  than  those  big  hands. 
"  My  father  is  of  a  hopeful  turn.  His  views  regarding  property 
are  peculiar.  It  is  a  comfort  to  have  such  a  distinguished  parent, 
isn't  it  ?  I  am  always  surprised  to  hear  that  he  is  not  married 
again.     I  sigh  for  a  mother-in  law,"  Philip  continued. 

"Oh,  don't,  Philip!"  cried  Mrs.  Laura,  in  a  pet.  "Be 
generous  :  be  forgiving  :  be  noble  :  be  Christian  !  Don't  be  cynical, 
and  imitating — you  know  whom  !  " 

Whom  could  she  possibly  mean,  I  wonder  ?  After  flashes,  there 
came  showers  in  this  lady's  eyes.  From  long  habit  I  can  imder- 
stand  her  thoughts,  although  she  does  not  utter  them.  She  was 
thinking  of  those  poor,  noble,  simple,  friendless  young  people  ;  and 
asking  Heaven's  protection  for  them.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of 
over-praising  my  friends,  goodness  knows.  The  foibles  of  this  one 
I  have  described  honestly  enough.  But  if  I  write  down  here  that 
he  was  courageous,  cheerful  in  adversity,  generous,  simple,  truth- 
loving,  above  a  scheme — ^after  having  said  that  he  was  a  noble 
young  fellow — dixi ;  and  I  won't  cancel  the  words. 

Ardent  lover  as  he  was,  our  friend  was  glad  to  be  back  in  the 
midst  of  the  London  smoke,  and  wealth,  and  bustle.  The  fog 
agreed  with  his  lungs,  he  said.  He  breathed  more  freely  in  our 
great  city  tlian  in  that  little  English  village  in  the  centre  of  Paris 
which  he  had  been  inhabiting.     In  his  hotel,  and  at  his  caf^  (where 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     473 

he  composed  his  eloquent  "  own  correspondence  "),  he  had  occasion 
to  speak  a  little  French,  but  it  never  came  very  tripiiin.dy  from  his 
stout  English  tongue.  "  You  don't  sujjpose  I  would  like  to  be 
taken  for  a  Frenchman,"  he  would  say,  with  nuich  giavity.  I 
wonder  who  ever  thought  of  mistaking  friend  Philip  for  a  French- 
man t 

As  for  that  faithful  Little  Sistei-,  her  house  and  heart  were  still 
at  the  young  man's  service.  We  have  not  visited  Thornhaugh 
Street  for  some  time.  Mr.  Philip,  wdiom  we  have  been  bound  to 
attend,  has  been  too  much  occupied  with  his  love-making  to  bestow 
much  thought  on  his  affectionate  little  friend.  She  has  been  trudg- 
ing meanwhile  on  her  humi)le  course  of  life,  cheerful,  modest, 
laborious,  doing  her  duty,  with  a  helping  little  hand  ready  to 
relieve  many  a  fallen  wayfarer  on  her  road.  She  had  a  room 
vacant  in  her  liouse  when  Philip  came  : — a  room,  indeed  !  Would 
she  not  have  had  a  house  vacant,  if  Philip  wanted  it  1  But  in  the 
interval  since  we  saw  her  last,  the  Little  Sister,  too,  has  had  to 
assume  black  robes.  Her  father,  the  old  Captain,  has  gone  to  his 
rest.  His  place  is  vacant  in  the  little  parlour  :  his  bedroom  is 
ready  for  Phili]»,  as  long  as  Phihp  wdll  stay.  She  did  not  profess 
to  feel  nuich  affliction  for  the  loss  of  the  Cai)tain.  She  talked  of 
Inm  constantly  as  though  he  were  present ;  and  made  a  supper  for 
Plulip,  and  seated  him  in  her  pa's  chair.  How  she  bustled  about 
on  the  night  when  Philip  arrived  !  what  a  beaming  welcome  there 
was  in  her  kind  eyes  !  Her  modest  hair  was  touched  with  silver 
now  ;  but  her  cheeks  were  like  apples ;  her  little  figure  was  neat, 
and  light,  and  active  :  and  her  voice,  with  its  gentle  laugh,  and 
little  sweet  bad  grammar,  has  always  seemed  one  of  the  sweetest 
of  voices  to  me. 

Very  soon  after  Philip's  arrival  in  London,  Mrs.  Brandon  ]iaid 
a  visit  to  the  wife  of  Mr.  Firmin's  humble  servant  and  biogiajjlier, 
and  the  two  women  had  a  fine  sentimental  consultation.  All  good 
women,  you  know,  are  sentimental.  The  idea  of  young  lovers,  of 
mat(;h-making,  of  amiable  i)overty,  tenderly  excites  and  interests 
them.  My  wife,  at  this  time,  began  to  pour  off*  fine  long  letters 
to  Miss  Baynes,  to  which  the  latter  modestly  and  dutifully  re]»lied, 
with  many  exj)ressions  of  fervour  and  gratitude  for  the  interest 
which  her  frientl  in  London  was  ])leased  to  take  in  the  little  maid. 
I  saw  by  these  answers  that  Charlotte's  union  with  Philip  was 
taken  as  a  received  point  by  these  two  ladies.  They  discussed  tlie 
ways  and  means.  They  did  not  talk  aliout  broughams,  settlemeids, 
town  and  country  houses,  i»in-moneys,  trousseaux  :  and  my  wife, 
in  computing  their  sources  of  income,  always  jwinted  out  that  Miss 
Charlotte's    fortune,    though    certainly    small,   would    give  a   very 


474  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

useful  addition  to  the  young  couple's  income.  "  Fifty  pounds  a 
year  not  much  !  Let  me  tell  you,  sir,  that  fifty  pounds  a  year  is 
a  very  pretty  little  sum :  if  Philip  can  but  make  three  hundred  a 
year  himself,  Mrs.  Brandon  says  they  ought  to  be  able  to  live  quite 
nicely."  You  ask,  my  genteel  friend,  is  it  possible  that  people  can 
live  for  four  hundred  a  year^  How  do  they  manage,  ces  pauvres 
gens  1  They  eat,  they  drink,  they  are  clothed,  they  are  'warmed, 
they  have  roofs  over  their  heads,  and  "glass  in  their  windows ;  and 
some  of  them  are  as  good,  happy,  and  well-bred  as  their  neighbours 
who  are  ten  times  as  rich.  Then,  besides  this  calculation  of  money, 
there  is  the  fond  woman's  firm  belief  that  the  day  will  bring  its 
daily  bread  for  those  who  work  for  it  and  ask  for  it  in  the  proper 
quarter ;  against  which  reasoning  many  a  man  knows  it  is  in  vain 
to  argue.  As  to  my  own  little  objections  and  doubts,  my  wife 
met  them  by  reference  to  Philip's  former  love-affair  with  his  cousin, 
Miss  Twysden.  "You  had  no  objection  in  that  case,  sir,"  this 
logician  would  say.  "  You  would  have  had  liim  take  a  creature 
without  a  heart.  You  would  cheerfully  have  seen  him  made 
miserable  for  life,  because  you  thought  there  was  money  enough 
and  a  genteel  connection.  Money  indeed !  Very  happy  Mrs. 
Woolcomb  is  with  her  money.  Very  creditably  to  all  sides 
has  that  marriage  turned  out ! "  I  need  scarcely  remind  my 
readers  of  the  unfortunate  result  of  that  marriage.  Woolcomb's 
behaviour  to  his  wife  was  the  agreeable  talk  of  London  society 
and  of  the  London  clubs  very  soon  after  tlie  pair  were  joined 
together  in  holy  matrimony.  Do  we  not  all  remember  how 
Woolcomb  was  accused  of  striking  liis  wife,  of  starving  his  wife, 
and  how  she  took  refuge  at  liome  and  came  to  lier  father's  house 
with  a  black  eye  ]  The  two  Twysdens  were  so  ashamed  of  this 
transaction,  that  father  and  son  left  off  coming  to  "  Bays's,"  where 
I  never  heard  their  absence  regretted  but  by  one  man,  who  said 
that  Talbot  owed  him  money  for  losses  at  whist  for  which  he  could 
get  no  settlement. 

Should  Mr.  Firmin  go  and  see  liis  aunt  in  her  misfortune  ? 
Bygones  might  be  bygones,  some  of  Pliilip's  advisers  thought. 
Now  Mrs.  Twysden  was  imhappy,  her  heart  might  relent  to 
Philip,  whom  she  certainly  had  loved  as  a  boy.  Philip  had  the 
magnanimity  to  call  upon  her ;  and  found  her  carriage  waiting  at 
the  door.  But  a  servant,  after  keeping  the  gentleman  waiting  in 
the  dreary  well -remembered  hall,  brought  liim  word  that  his 
mistress  was  out,  smiled  in  his  face  with  an  engaging  insolence, 
and  proceeded  to  put  cloaks,  court-guides,  and  otlier  female  gear 
into  the  carriage  in  the  presence  of  this  poor  deserted  nephew. 
This  visit  it  must  be   owned  was   one  of  Mrs.    Laura's   romantic 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     475 

efforts  at  reconciling  enemies :  as  if,  my  good  creature,  the 
Twysdens  ever  let  a  man  into  their  house  who  was  poor  or  out 
of  fashion  !  They  lived  in  a  constant  dread  lest  Philip  should  call 
to  borrow  money  of  them.  As  if  they  ever  lent  money  to  a  man 
who  was  in  need  !  If  they  ask  the  respected  reader  to  their  house, 
depend  upon  it  they  think  he  is  well-to-do.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Twysdens  made  a  very  handsome  entertainment  for  the  new 
Lord  of  Whiphara  and  Ringwood  who  now  reigned  after  his  kins- 
man's death.  They  affably  went  and  passed  Christmas  with  him 
in  the  country;  and  they  cringed  and  bowed  before  Sir  John 
Ringwood  as  they  had  bowed  and  cringed  before  the  Earl  in  his 
time.  The  old  Earl  had  been  a  Tory  in  his  latter  days  when 
Talbot  Twysden's  views  were  also  very  conservative.  The  i)resent 
Lord  of  Ringwood  was  a  Whig.  It  is  surprising  how  liberal  the 
Twysdens  grew  in  the  course  of  a  fortnight's  after-dinner  conversa- 
tion and  pheasant-shooting  talk  at  Ringwood.  "  Hang  it !  you 
know,"  young  Twysden  said,  in  his  office  afterwards,  "  a  fellow 
must  go  with  the  politics  of  his  family,  you  know  ! "  and  he 
bragged  about  the  dinners,  wines,  splendours,  cooks,  and  pre- 
serves of  Ringwood  as  freely  as  in  the  time  of  his  noble  grand- 
uncle.  Any  one  who  has  kept  a  house-dog  in  London,  wiiich 
licks  your  boots  and  your  platter,  and  fawns  for  the  bones  in 
your  dish,  knows  hoAv  the  animal  barks  and  flies  at  the  poor  who 
come  to  the  door.  The  Twysdens,  fixther  and  son,  were  of  tliis 
canine  species  :  and  there  are  vast  packs  of  such  dogs  here  and 
elsewhere. 

If  Philij)  oj)eued  his  heart  to  us,  and  talked  unreservedly  re- 
garding his  hopes  and  his  plans,  you  may  be  sure  he  had  his  little 
friend,  Mrs.  Brandon,  also  in  his  confidence,  and  that  no  person  in 
the  world  was  more  eager  to  serve  him.  Whilst  we  were  talking 
about  what  was  to  be  done,  this  little  lady  was  also  at  work  in  her 
favourite's  behalf  She  had  a  firm  ally  in  Mrs.  Mugford,  the  pro- 
prietor's lady  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  Mrs.  Mugford  had  long 
been  interested  in  Philip,  his  misfortiuies  and  his  love  affairs. 
These  two  good  women  had  made  a  sentimental  hero  of  him.  Ali  '. 
that  they  could  devise  some  feasible  sclieme  to  help  him  !  And 
such  a  chance  actually  did  very  soon  ]>resent  itself  to  these  de- 
lighted women. 

In  almost  all  tlie  papers  of  the  new  year  appeared  a  brilliant 
advertisement,  announcing  the  speedy  appearance  in  Dublin  of  a 
new  paper.  It  was  to  be  called  The  Shamrock,  and  its  first 
number  was  to  be  issued  on  the  ensuing  St.  Patrick's  day.  I  need 
not  quote  at  length  the  advertisement  which  heralded  the  advent  of 
this  new  periodical.     The  most  famous  i>cns  of  the  national  i)arty 


476  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

in  Ireland  were,  of  course,  engaged  to  contribute  to  its  columns. 
Those  pens  would  be  hannncred  into  steel  of  a  different  shape  when 
the  opportunity  should  off'er.  Beloved  prelates,  authors  of  world- 
wide fame,  bards,  the  bold  strings  of  whose  lyres  had  rung  through 
the  isle  already,  and  made  millions  of  noble  hearts  to  beat,  and,  by 
consequence,  double  the  number  of  eyes  to  fill ;  philosophers,  re- 
nowned for  science ;  and  illustrious  advocates,  whose  manly  voices 
had  ever  spoken  the  language  of  hope  and  freedom  to  an  &c.  &c., 
would  be  found  rallying  rountl  the  journal,  and  proud  to  wear  the 
symbol  of  The  Shamrock.  Finally,  Michael  Oassidy,  Esquire, 
was  chosen  to  be  the  editor  of  this  new  journal. 

This  was  the  M.  Cassidy,  Esquire,  who  appeared,  I  think,  at 
Mr.  Firmin's  call-supper ;  and  who  had  long  been  the  sub-editor  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette.  If  Michael  went  to  Dame  Street,  wliy 
sliould  not  Philip  be  sub-editor  at  Pall  Mall?  Mrs.  Brandon 
argued.  Of  course  there  would  be  a  score  of  candidates  for  Michael's 
office.  The  editor  would  like  the  patronage.  Barnet,  Mugford's 
partner  in  the  Gazette,  would  wish  to  appoint  his  man.  Cassidy, 
before  retiring,  would  assuredly  intimate  his  approaching  resigna- 
tion to  scores  of  gentlemen  of  his  nation,  who  would  not  object  to 
take  the  Saxon's  pay  until  they  finally  shook  his  yoke  off,  and 
would  eat  his  bread  until  the  happy  moment  arrived  when  they 
could  knock  out  his  brains  in  ftiir  battle.  As  soon  as  Mrs.  Brandon 
heard  of  the  vacant  place,  that  moment  she  determined  that  Philip 
should  have  it.  It  was  surprising  what  a  quantity  of  information 
our  little  friend  possessed  about  artists,  and  pressmen,  and  tlieir 
lives,  families,  ways  and  means.  Many  gentlemen  of  both  profes- 
sions came  to  Mr.  PJdley's  chambers  and  called  on  the  Little  Sister 
on  their  way  to  and  fro.  How  Tom  Smith  had  left  the  Herald, 
and  gone  to  the  Post  ;  what  price  Jack  Jones  had  for  his  picture, 
and  who  sat  for  the  principal  figures — I  promise  you  Madam 
Brandon  had  all  these  interesting  details  by  heart ;  and  I  think  I 
have  described  this  little  person  very  inadequately  if  I  have  not 
made  you  understand  that  she  was  as  intrepid  a  little  jobber  as 
ever  lived,  and  never  scrupled  to  go  any  length  to  serve  a  friend. 
To  be  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  to  be  ])rofessor  of  Hebrew,  to  be 
teacher  of  a  dancing-school,  to  be  organist  for  a  church  :  for  any 
conceivable  place  or  function  this  little  person  would  have  asserted 
Philip's  capability.  "  Don't  tell  me  !  He  can  dance  or  preach  (as 
the  case  may  be),  or  write  beautiful !  And  as  for  being  unfit  to  be 
a  sub-editor,  I  want  to  know,  has  lie  not  as  good  a  head  and  as 
good  an  education  as  that  Cassidy,  indeed?  And  is  not  Cambridge 
College  the  best  college  in  the  world  ?  It  is,  I  say.  And  he  went 
there  ever  so  long.     And  he  might  have  taken  the  very  best  prize, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     477 

only  money  was  no  object  to  him  then,  dear  fellow,  and  lie  did  not 
like  to  keep  the  poor  out  of  what  he  didn't  want  !  " 

Mrs.  Mugford  had  always  considered  the  young  man  as  very 
haughty,  but  quite  the  gentleman,  and  speedily  was  infected  by  her 
gossip's  enthusiasm  about  him.  My  wife  liired  a  fly,  packed  several 
of  the  children  into  it,  called  upon  Mrs.  Mugford,  and  chose  to  be 
deliglited  with  that  lady's  garden,  with  that  lady's  nuisery — with 
everything  that  bore  the  name  of  Mugford.  It  was  a  curiosity  to 
remark  in  what  a  flurry  of  excitement  these  women  plunged,  and 
how  they  schemed,  and  coaxed,  and  caballed,  in  order  to  get  this 
place  for  their  \)wt6g6.  My  wife  thought — she  merely  haiijiened  to 
surmise :  nothing  more,  of  course — that  Mrs.  Mugford's  fond  desire 
was  to  shine  in  the  world.  "  Could  we  not  ask  some  people — with 
— with  what  you  call  handles  to  their  names, — I  think  I  before 
heard  you  use  some  such  term,  sir, — to  meet  the  Mugfords?  Some 
of  Philip's  old  friends,  who  I  am  sure  would  be  very  liappy  to  serve 
him."  Some  such  artifice  was,  I  own,  practised.  We  coaxed, 
cajoled,  fondled  the  Mugfords  for  Philip's  sake,  and  Heaven  foi-give 
Mrs.  Laura  her  hypocrisy.  We  had  an  entertainment  tlien,  I  own. 
We  asked  our  finest  company,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugfoid  to  meet 
them  :  and  we  prayed  that  uiducky  Philip  to  be  on  his  best  behaviour 
to  all  persons  who  were  invited  to  the  feast. 

Before  my  wife  this  lion  of  a  Firmin  was  as  a  lamb.  Rough, 
captious,  and  overbearing  in  general  society,  with  those  wliom  he 
loved  and  esteemed  PhiHp  was  of  all  men  the  most  modest  and 
humble.  He  would  never  tire  of  playing  with  our  children,  joining 
in  their  games,  laughing  and  roaring  at  their  little  sports.  I  have 
never  had  such  a  laugher  at  my  jokes  as  Philij)  Firmin.  I  think 
my  wife  liked  him  for  tliat  noble  guffaw  with  M-hich  he  used  to  salute 
those  pieces  of  wit.  He  arrived  a  little  late  sometimes  with  his 
laughing  chorus,  but  ten  people  at  table  were  not  so  loud  as  this 
faithful  friend.  On  the  contrary,  Avhen  those  people  for  wlimn  he 
has  no  liking  venture  on  a  jnui  or  other  pleasantry,  I  am  Ixmiid  in 
own  that  Philijj's  acknowledgment  of  their  waggery  nuist  be  any- 
thing but  i)leasant  or  flattering  to  them.  Now,  on  occasion  of  this 
imj)ortant  dinner,  T  enjoined  him  to  be  very  kind,  and  very  civil, 
and  very  much  phnised  witli  everylnxly,  and  to  stamp  upon  nobody's 
corns,  as,  indeed,  why  shouhl  he,  in  life?  Who  was  he  to  be  revsor 
7nornm  ?  And  it  has  ])ecn  said  that  no  man  could  admit  his  own 
faults  with  a  more  engaging  candour  than  our  friend. 

We  invited,  then,  ^lugford,  the  proprietor  of  the  Pall  Mall 
Oazette,  and  his  wife ;  and  Bickerton,  tlie  editor  of  that  periodical  ; 
Lord  Egham,  Philip's  old  College  fiiend  ;  and  one  or  two  more 
gentlemen.     Our  invitations  to  the  ladies  were  not  so   fortunate, 


478  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Some  were  engaged,  otliers  away  in  the  country  keeping  Christmas. 
Ill  fine,  we  considered  ourselves  rather  lucky  in  securing  old  Lady 
Hixie,  who  lives  hard  by  in  Westminster,  and  who  will  pass  for  a 
lady  of  fashion  when  no  person  of  greater  note  is  present.  My  wife 
told  her  that  the  object  of  the  dinner  was  to  make  our  friend  Firmin 
acquainted  with  the  editor  and  proprietor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette, 
with  wlioin  it  was  important  tliat  he  should  be  on  the  most  amicable 
footing.  Oh  !  very  well.  Lady  Hixie  promised  to  be  quite  gracious 
to  the  newspaper  gentleman  and  his  wife ;  and  kept  her  promise 
most  graciously  during  the  evening.  Our  good  friend  Mrs.  Mugfoi-d 
was  the  first  of  our  guests  to  arrive.  She  drove  "  in  her  trap  "  from 
her  villa  in  the  suburbs ;  and  after  putting  up  his  carriage  at  a 
neighbouring  livery -stable,  her  groom  volunteered  to  help  our  servants 
in  waiting  at  dinner.  His  zeal  and  activity  were  remarkable. 
China  smashed,  and  dish-covers  clanged  in  the  passage.  Mrs. 
Mugford  said  that  "  Sam  was  at  his  old  tricks ; "  and  I  hope  the 
hostess  showed  she  was  mistress  of  herself  amidst  that  fall  of  china. 
Mrs.  Mugford  came  before  the  appointed  hour,  she  said,  in  order 
to  see  our  children.  "With  our  late  London  dinner  hours,"  she 
remarked,  "children  was  never  seen  now."  At  Hampstead,  hers 
always  appeared  at  the  dessert,  and  enlivened  the  table  with  their 
innocent  outcries  for  oranges  and  struggles  for  sweetmeats.  In  the 
nursery,  where  one  little  maid,  in  her  crisp  long  night-gown,  was 
saying  her  prayers  ;  where  another  little  person,  in  the  most  airy 
costume,  was  standing  before  the  great  barred  fire;  where  a  third 
Lilliputian  was  sitting  up  in  its  night-cap  and  surplice,  surveying 
the  scene  below  from  its  crib ;— the  ladies  found  our  dear  Little 
Sister  installed.  She  had  come  to  see  her  little  pets  (she  had  known 
two  or  three  of  them  from  tlie  very  earliest  times).  She  was  a  great 
favourite  amongst  them  all ;  and,  I  believe,  conspired  with  the  cook 
down  below  in  preparing  certain  delicacies  for  the  table.  A  fine 
conversation  then  ensued  about  our  children,  about  the  Mugford 
children,  about  babies  in  general.  And  then  the  artful  women  (the 
house-mistress  and  the  Little  Sister)  brouglit  Pliilip  on  the  tajyis,  and 
discoursed,  a  qui  inienx,  about  his  virtues,  his  misfortunes,  his  engage- 
ment, and  that  dear  little  creature  to  whom  he  was  betrothed.  This 
conversation  went  on  until  carriage-wheels  were  heard  in  the  square, 
and  the  knocker  (there  were  actually  knockers  in  that  old-fashioned 
place  and  time)  began  to  peal.  "  Oh,  bother  !  There's  the 
company  a-comin',"  Mrs.  Mugford  said  ;  and,  arranging  her  cap  and 
fiounces,  with  neat-handed  Mrs.  Brandon's  aid,  came  downstairs, 
after  taking  a  tender  leave  of  the  little  people,  to  whom  she  sent  a 
present  next  day  of  a  pile  of  fine  Christmas  books,  which  had  come 
to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  for  review.     The  kind  woman  had  been 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      479 

coaxed,  wheedled,  and  won  over  to  our  side,  to  Philip's  side.  He 
had  her  vote  for  the  sub-editorship,  Avhatever  might  ensue. 

Most  of  our  guests  had  already  arrived,  when  at  length  Mrs. 
Mugford  was  announced.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  she  presented  a 
remarkable  appearance,  and  that  the  splendour  of  her  attire  was 
such  as  is  seldom  beheld. 

Bickerton  and  Philip  were  presented  to  one  another,  and  had  a 
talk  about  French  politics  before  dinner,  during  which  conversation 
Pliilip  behaved  witli  perfect  discretion  and  i)oliteness.  Bickerton 
had  happened  to  hear  Philip's  letters  well  spoken  of — in  a  good 
quarter,  mind ;  and  his  cordiality  increased  when  Lord  Egham 
entered,  called  Pliilii)  by  his  surname,  and  entered  into  a  perfectly 
free  conversation  with  him.  Old  Lady  Hixie  went  into  perfectly 
good  society,  Bickerton  condescendeil  to  acknowledge.  "  As  for 
Mrs.  LIugford,"  says  he,  with  a  glance  of  wondering  compassion  at 
that  lady,  "  of  course,  I  need  not  tell  you  that  she  is  seen  nowhere 
— nowhere."  This  said,  Mr.  Bickerton  stepped  forward,  and  calmly 
patronised  my  wife,  gave  me  a  good-natured  nod  for  my  own  part ; 
reminded  Lord  Egham  that  he  had  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  him 
at  Egham ;  and  then  fixed  on  Tom  Page,  of  the  Bread-and-Butter 
Office  (who  I  own  is  one  of  our  most  genteel  guests),  with  Avhom  he 
entered  into  a  discussion  of  some  political  matter  of  that  day — I 
forget  what :  but  the  main  ])oint  was  that  he  named  tAvo  or  three 
leading  public  men  with  whom  he  had  discussed  the  question,  what- 
ever it  might  be.  He  named  very  great  names,  and  led  us  to  under- 
stand that  with  the  j)roprietors  of  those  very  great  names  he  was 
on  the  most  intimate  and  confidential  footing.  With  his  owners — 
with  the  proprietor  of  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette,  he  was  on  the  most 
distant  terms,  and  indeed  I  am  afraid  that  his  behaviour  to  myself 
and  my  wife  was  scarcely  respectful.  I  fancied  I  saw  Philip's  brow 
gathering  wrinkles  as  his  eye  followed  this  man  strutting  from  one 
person  to  another,  and  patronising  each.  The  dinner  was  a  little 
late,  from  some  reason  best  known  in  tiic  lower  regions.  "  I  take 
it,"  says  Bickerton,  winking  at  Philip,  in  a  pause  of  the  conversa- 
tion, "  tliat  our  good  friend  and  host  is  not  much  used  to  giving 
dinners.  The  mistress  of  the  house  is  evidently  in  a  state  of  per- 
turbation." Philip  gave  such  a  horrible  griniacc!  that  the  other  at 
first  thought  he  was  in  pain. 

"  You,  who  have  lived  a  gicat  deal  witli  old  iJingwood,  know  what 
a  good  dinner  is,"  Bickerton  continue<l,  giving  Firniin  a  knowing  look. 

"  Any  dinner  is  good  which  is  accompanied  with  such  a  welcome 
as  I  get  here,'"  said  Philip. 

"  Oh  !  very  good  peojjle,  \ery  good  people,  of  course !  "  cries 
Bickerton. 


480  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

I  need  not  say  he  thinks  lie  has  perfectly  succeeded  in  adoptint,' 
the  air  of  a  man  of  the  world.  He  went  off  to  Lady  Hixie  and 
talked  with  her  about  the  last  great  party  at  which  he  had  met 
her ;  and  then  he  turned  to  the  host,  and  remarked  that  my  friend, 
the  Doctor's  son,  was  a  fierce-looking  fellow.  In  five  minutes  he 
had  the  good  fortune  to  make  himself  hated  by  Mr.  Firmin.  He 
walks  through  the  world  i)atronising  his  betters.  "  Our  good  friend 
is  not  much  used  to  giving  dinners," — isn't  he'?  I  say,  what  do 
you  mean  by  continuing  to  endure  this  man  1  Tom  Page,  of  the 
Bread-and-Butter  Ofiice,  is  a  well-known  diner-out ;  Lord  Egham 
is  a  peer.  Bickerton,  in  a  pretty  loud  voice,  talked  to  one  or  other 
of  these  during  dinner  and  across  the  table.  He  sat  next  to  Mrs. 
Mugford,  but  he  turned  his  back  on  that  bewildered  woman,  and 
never  condescended  to  address  a  woi-d  to  her  personally.  "  Of 
course,  I  understand  you,  my  dear  fellow,"  lie  said  to  me  when,  on 
the  retreat  of  the  ladies,  we  approached  within  whispering  distance. 
"  You  have  these  people  at  dinner  for  reasons  of  state.  You  have 
a  book  coming  out,  and  want  to  have  it  noticed  in  the  paper.  I 
make  a  point  of  keeping  these  people  at  a  distance — the  only  way 
of  dealing  with  them,  I  give  you  my  word." 

Not  one  off"ensive  word  had  Philip  said  to  the  chief  writer  of 
the  Pall  Mall  Gazette ;  and  I  began  to  congratulate  myself  that 
our  dinner  would  pass  without  any  mishaj),  when  some  one  unluckily 
iiappening  to  i)raise  the  wine,  a  fresh  supply  was  ordered.  "  Very 
good  claret.  Who  is  your  wine-merchant  1  Upon  my  word,  I  get 
better  claret  here  tlian  I  do  in  Paris — don't  you  think  so,  Mr. 
Fermor  1     Where  do  you  generally  dine  at  Paris  1 " 

"  I  generally  dine  for  thirty  sous,  and  three  francs  on  grand 
days,  Mr.  Beckerton,"  growls  Philip. 

"  My  name  is  Bickerton."  ("  What  a  vulgar  thing  for  a  fellow 
to  talk  about  his  thirty-sous  dinners  ! "  murmured  my  neighbour  to 
me.)  "Well,  there  is  no  accounting  for  tastes!  When  I  go  to 
Paris,  I  dine  at  the  '  Trois  Frferes.'  Give  me  the  Burgundy  at  the 
'  Trois  Frferes.' " 

"  That  is  because  you  great  leader-writers  are  paid  better  than 
poor  correspondents.  I  shall  be  delighted  to  be  able  to  dine  better." 
And  with  this  Mr.  Firmin  smiles  at  Mr.  Mugford,  his  master  and 
owner. 

"Nothing  so  vulgar  as  talking  shop,"  says  Bickerton,  rather  loud. 

"  I  am  not  ashamed  of  the  siiop  I  keep.  Are  you  of  yours, 
Mr.  Bickerton  ? "  growls  Philip. 

"  F.  had  him  there,"  says  Mr.  Mugford. 

Mr.  Bickerton  got  up  from  table,  turning  quite  pale.  "  Do  you 
mean  to  be  offensive,  sir?"  he  asked. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      481 

"Offensive,  sir"?  No,  sir.  Some  men  are  off"ensive  without 
meaning  it.  You  have  been  several  times  to-night ! "  says  Lord 
Philip. 

"  I  don't  see  that  I  am  called  upon  to  bear  this  kind  of  thing 
at  any  man's  talkie  !  "  cried  Mr.  Bickerton.  "  Lord  Egham,  I  wish 
you  good-night ! " 

"I  say,  old  boy,  what's  the  row  about ?"  asked  his  Lordsliip. 
And  we  were  all  astonished  as  my  guest  rose  and  left  the  table  in 
great  wrath. 

"  Serve  him  right,  Firmin,  I  say ! "  said  Mr.  Mugford,  again 
drinking  off"  a  glass. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?"  says  Tom  Page.  "His  father  keeps 
a  haberdasher's  shop  at  Cambridge,  and  sent  him  to  Oxford,  where 
he  took  a  good  degree." 

And  this  had  come  of  a  dinner  of  conciliation — a  dinner  which 
was  to  advance  Philip's  interest  in  life  ! 

"  Hit  him  again,  I  say,"  cried  Mugford,  whom  wine  had  rendered 
eloquent.  "  He's  a  supercilious  beast,  that  Bickerton  is,  and  I  hate 
him,  and  so  does  Mrs.  M." 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

NARRATES   THAT  FAMOUS  JOKE  ABOUT  MISS  GRIGSBY 

FOR  once  Philip  found  that  he  had  offended  without  giving 
general  offence.  In  the  confidence  of  female  intercourse, 
Mrs.  Mugford  had  already,  in  her  own  artless  but  powerful 
language,  confu^med  her  husband's  statement  regarding  Mr.  Bickerton, 
and  declared  that  B.  was  a  beast,  and  she  was  only  sorry  that  Mr. 
F.  had  not  hit  him  a  little  harder.  So  different  are  the  opinions 
which  different  individuals  entertain  of  the  same  event !  I  happen 
to  know  that  Bickerton,  on  his  side,  went  away,  averring  that  we 
were  quarrelsome  under-bred  people ;  and  that  a  man  of  any  refine- 
ment had  best  avoid  that  kind  of  society.  He  does  really  and 
seriously  believe  himself  our  superior,  and  will  lecture  almost  any 
gentleman  on  the  art  of  being  one.  Tliis  assurance  is  not  at  all 
uncommon  with  your  jiarvenu.  Proud  of  his  newly-acquired  know- 
ledge of  the  art  of  exhausting  the  contents  of  an  egg,  the  well-known 
little  boy  of  the  apologue  rushed  to  impart  his  knowledge  to  his 
grandmother,  who  had  been  for  many  years  familiar  with  the  process 
whicli  tlie  child  had  just  discovered.  Which  of  us  has  not  met 
witli  some  such  instructors  1  I  know  men  who  would  be  ready  to 
step  forward  and  teacli  Taglioni  how  to  dance,  Tom  Savers  how  to 
box,  or  the  Clievalier  Bayard  how  to  be  a  gentleman.  We  most  of 
us  know  such  men,  and  undergo,  from  time  to  time,  the  ineffable 
benefit  of  their  patronage. 

Mugford  went  away  from  our  little  entertainment  vowing,  by 
George,  that  Philip  shouldn't  want  for  a  friend  at  the  proper  season  ; 
and  this  proper  season  very  speedily  arrived.  I  laughed  one  day, 
on  going  to  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  office,  to  find  Philip  installed  in 
the  sub-eilitor's  room,  with  a  provision  of  scissors,  wafers,  and  paste- 
pots,  snipping  paragraphs  from  this  paper  and  that,  altering,  con- 
densing, giving  titles,  and  so  forth  ;  and,  in  a  word,  in  regular 
harness.  The  three-headed  calves,  the  great  prize  gooseberries,  the 
old  maiden  ladies  of  wonderful  ages  who  at  length  died  in  country 
places — it  was  wonderful  (considering  his  little  experience)  how 
Firmin  hunted  out  these.  He  entered  into  all  the  spirit  of  his 
business.     He  prided  himself  on  the  clever  titles  which  he  found 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     483 

for  his  paragraphs.  When  his  paper  was  completed  at  the  week's 
end,  he  surveyed  it  fondly — not  the  leading  articles,  or  those  pro- 
found and  yet  brilliant  literary  essays  which  appeared  in  the  Gazette 
— but  the  births,  deaths,  marriages,  markets,  trials,  and  what  not. 
As  a  shop-boy  having  decorated  his  master's  window,  goes  into  the 
street,  and  pleased  siuTcys  his  work ;  so  the  fair  face  of  the  Pall 
Mall  Gazette  rejoiced  Mr.  Firmin,  and  Mr.  Bince,  the  printer  of 
the  ])aper.  They  looked  with  an  honest  pride  upon  the  result  of 
tlieir  joint  labours.  Nor  did  Firmin  relish  pleasantry  on  the  subject. 
Did  his  friends  allude  to  it,  and  ask  if  lie  had  shot  any  especially 
tine  canard  tliat  week  1  Mr.  Philip's  brow  would  corrugate  and  his 
cheeks  redden.  He  did  not  like  jokes  to  be  made  at  his  expense  : 
was  not  his  a  singular  antipathy  1 

In  his  capacity  of  sub-editor,  the  good  fellow  had  the  privilege 
of  taking  and  giving  away  countless  theatre  orders,  and  panorama 
and  diorama  tickets :  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  was  not  above  accept- 
ing such  little  bribes  in  those  days,  and  Mrs.  Mugford's  familiarity 
with  the  names  of  ojiera  singers,  and  splendid  ap])earance  in  an 
opera-box,  were  quite  remarkable.  Friend  Philip  would  bear  away 
a  heap  of  these  cards  of  admission,  delighted  to  carry  off  our  young 
folks  to  one  exhibition  or  another.  But  once  at  the  Diorama,  where 
our  young  people  sat  in  the  darkness,  very  much  frightened  as  usual, 
a  voice  from  out  the  midnight  gloom  cried  out :  "  Who  has  come 
in  with  orders  from  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette  V  A  lady,  two  scared 
clnldren,  and  Mr.  Sub-editor  Philip,  all  trembled  at  this  dreadful 
summons.  I  think  I  sliould  not  dare  to  print  the  story  even  now, 
did  I  not  know  that  Mr.  Firmin  was  travelling  abroad.  It  was  a 
blessing  the  place  was  dark,  so  that  none  could  see  the  poor  sub- 
editor's blushes.  Rather  than  cause  any  mortification  to  this  lady, 
I  am  sure  Piiilip  woidd  have  submitted  to  rack  and  torture.  But, 
indeed,  her  annoyance  was  very  slight,  except  in  seeing  her  friend 
annoyed.  The  luimour  of  the  scene  surpassed  the  annoyance  in  the 
lady's  mind,  and  caused  lier  to  laugh  at  the  mishap  ;  but  I  own  our 
little  ))oy  (wlio  is  of  an  aristocratic  turn,  and  rather  too  sensitive  to 
ridicule  from  his  schoolfellows)  was  not  at  all  anxious  to  talk  u})on 
tlie  subject,  or  to  let  the  world  know  that  he  went  to  a  place  of 
laiblic  amusement  "with  an  order." 

As  for  Philip's  landlady,  the  Little  Sister,  she,  you  know,  had 
been  familiar  with  the  press,  and  pressmen,  and  orders  for  the  play 
for  years  past.  She  looked  quite  young  and  pretty  with  her  kind 
smiling  face  and  neat  tight  black  dress,  as  she  came  to  the  theatre 
— it  was  to  an  Easter  ])iece — on  Pliilip's  arm,  one  evening.  Our 
children  saw  her  from  their  cab,  as  they,  too,  were  driving  to  the 
same  ]ierlurniance.     It  was,  "  Look,  mamma  I     There's  Philip  and 


484  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  Little  Sister ! "  And  then  came  such  smiles,  and  nods,  and 
delighted  recognitions  from  the  cab  to  the  two  friends  on  foot !  Of 
course  I  have  forgotten  what  was  the  piece  which  we  all  saw  on 
that  Easter  evening.  But  those  children  will  never  forget;  no, 
though  they  live  to  be  a  hundred  years  old,  and  though  their 
attention  was  distracted  from  the  piece  by  constant  observation  of 
Philip  and  his  companion  in  the  public  boxes  opposite. 

Mr.  Firmin's  work  and  pay  were  both  light,  and  he  accepted 
both  very  cheerfully.  He  saved  money  out  of  his  little  stipend. 
It  was  surprising  how  economically  he  could  live  with  his  little 
landlady's  aid  and  counsel.  He  would  come  to  us,  recounting  his 
feats  of  parsimony  with  a  childish  delight :  he  loved  to  contemplate 
his  sovereigns,  as  Aveek  by  week  the  little  pile  accumulated.  He 
kept  a  sharp  eye  upon  sales,  and  purchased  now  and  again  articles 
of  furniture.  In  this  way  be  brought  home  a  piano  to  his  lodgings, 
on  which  he  could  no  more  play  than  he  could  dance  on  the  tight- 
rope; but  he  was  given  to  understand  that  it  was  a  very  fine  instru- 
ment ;  and  my  wife  played  on  it  one  day  when  we  went  to  visit 
him,  and  he  sat  listening,  with  his  great  hands  on  his  knees,  in 
ecstasies.  He  was  thinking  how  one  day,  please  Heaven,  he  should 
see  other  hands  toucliing  the  keys — and  player  and  instrument  dis- 
appeared in  a  mist  before  his  happy  eyes.  His  purchases  were  not 
always  lucky.  For  example,  he  was  sadly  taken  in  at  an  auction 
about  a  little  pearl  ornament.  Some  artful  Hebrews  at  the  sale 
conspired  and  "  ran  him  up,"  as  the  phrase  is,  to  a  price  more  than 
equal  to  the  value  of  the  trinket.  "  But  you  know  who  it  was  for, 
ma'am,"  one  of  Philip's  apologists  said.  "  If  she  would  like  to 
wear  his  ten  fingers  he  would  cut  'em  off  and  send  'em  to  her.  But 
he  keeps  'em  to  write  her  letters  and  verses — and  most  beautiful 
they  are,  too." 

"And  the  dear  fellow,  who  was  bred  up  in  splendour  and 
luxury,  Mrs.  Mugford,  as  you,  ma'am,  know  too  well — he  won't 
drink  no  wine  now.  A  little  whisky  and  a  glass  of  beer  is  all  he 
takes.  And  his  clothes — he  who  used  to  be  so  grand — you  see 
how  he  is  now,  ma'am.  Always  the  gentleman — and,  indeed,  a 
finer  or  grander  looking  gentleman  never  entered  a  room  ;  but  he  is 
saving — you  know  for  what,  ma'am." 

And,  indeed,  Mrs.  Mugford  did  know;  and  so  did  Mrs.  Pen- 
dennis  and  Mrs.  Brandon.  And  these  three  women  worked 
themselves  into  a  perfect  fever,  interesting  themselves  for  Mr. 
Firmin.  And  Mugford,  in  his  rough  funny  way,  used  to  say, 
"  Mr.  P.,  a  certain  Mr.  Heff  has  come  and  put  our  noses 
out  of  joint.  He  has,  as  sure  as  my  name  is  Hem.  And  I  am 
getting  quite  jealous  of  our  sub-editor,  and  that  is  the  long  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     485 

short  of  it.  But  it'vS  good  to  see  him  haw-haw  Bickerton  if  ever 
they  meet  in  the  office,  that  it  is  !  Bickerton  won't  bully  him  any 
more,  I  promise  you  !  " 

The  conclaves  and  conspiracies  of  these  women  were  endless  in 
I*hilip's  behalf.  One  day,  I  let  the  Little  Sister  out  of  my  house 
with  a  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  and  in  a  great  state  of  flurry  and 
excitement,  which  j)erhaps  communicates  itself  to  the  gentleman 
who  passes  her  at  his  own  door.  The  gentleman's  wife  is,  on  her 
])art,  not  a  little  moved  and  excited.  "  Wliat  do  you  think  Mrs. 
Brandon  says  *?  Philip  is  learning  shorthand.  He  says  he  docs 
not  think  he  is  clever  enough  to  be  a  writer  of  any  mark  ; — but  he 
can  be  a  reporter,  and  with  this,  and  liis  place  at  Mr.  Mugford's, 

he  thinks  he  can  earn  enough  to .     Oh,  he  is  a  fine  fellow ! " 

I  suppose  feminine  emotion  stopped  the  completion  of  this  speech. 
I-)Ut  when  Mr.  Philip  slouched  in  to  dinner  that  day,  his  hostess 
did  homage  before  him ;  she  loved  him ;  she  treated  him  with  a 
tender  respect  and  sympathy  which  her  like  are  ever  wont  to 
bestow  upon  brave  and  honest  luen  in  misfortune. 

Why  should  not  Mr.  Philip  Firmin,  barrister-at-law,  bethink 
him  that  he  belonged  to  a  profession  which  has  helped  very  many 
men  to  competence,  and  not  a  few  to  wealth  and  honoiu's  1  A 
barrister  might  surely  hope  for  as  good  earnings  as  could  be  made 
by  a  newsi)aper  reporter.  We  all  know  instances  of  men  who, 
having  commenced  their  careers  as  writers  for  the  press,  l)ad  carried 
on  the  legal  profession  simultaneously,  and  attained  the  greatest 
honours  of  the  bar  and  the  bench.  "  Can  I  sit  in  a  Pumj)  Coui't 
gai'ix't  waiting  for  attorneys  1"  asked  poor  Pliil ;  "  I  shall  Itreak  my 
lieart  before  they  come.  My  brains  are  not  worth  much  ;  I  should 
addle  them  altogetlier  in  poring  over  law-books.  I  am  not  at  all 
a  clever  fellow,  you  see ;  and  I  haven't  the  ambition  and  obstinate 
will  to  succeed  which  carry  on  many  a  man  with  no  greater  capacity 
than  my  own.  I  may  have  as  good  brains  as  Bickerton,  for  exam))le  : 
but  I  am  not  so  biwiptioics  as  he  is.  By  claiming  the  first  ]ilace 
wherever  he  goes,  he  gets  it  very  often.  My  dear  friends,  don't 
you  see  how  modest  I  am  1  There  never  was  a  man  less  likely 
to  get  on  than  myself — you  must  own  that ;  and  I  tell  you  that 
Charlotte  and  I  must  look  forward  to  a  life  of  poverty,  of  cheese- 
parings, and  second -floor  lodgings  at  Pentonville  or  Islington. 
That's  about  my  mark.  I  would  let  her  ofl",  only  I  know  she  would 
not  take  me  at  my  word — the  dear  little  thing !  She  has  set  her 
heart  upon  a  hulking  pau])er ;  that's  the  truth.  And  I  tell  you 
what  I  am  going  to  do.  I  am  going  seriously  to  learn  the  profession 
of  i)overty,  and  make  myself  master  of  it.  What's  the  price  of 
cow-heel  and  tri2)e  ?     You  don't  know.     I  do  ;  and  the  right  place 


486 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 


to  buy  'em.  I  am  as  good  a  judge  of  sprats  as  any  man  in  London. 
My  tap  in  life  is  to  be  small  beer  henceforth,  and  I  am  growing 
quite  to  like  it,  and  think  it  is  brisk,  and  pleasant,  and  wholesome." 
Tiiere  was  not  a  little  truth  in  Philip's  account  of  himself,  and  his 
capacities  and  incapacities.  Doubtless  he  was  not  born  to  make 
a  great  name  for  himself  in  the  world.  But  do  we  like  those  only 
who  are  famous  1  As  well  say  we  will  only  give  our  regard  to  men 
who  have  ten  thousand  a  year,  or  are  more  than  six  feet  high. 

While  of  his  three  female  friends  and  advisers,  my  wife  admired 
Philip's  humility,  Mrs.  Brandon  and  Mrs.  Mugford  were  rather 
disappointed  at  his  want  of  spirit,  and  to  think  that  he  aimed  so 
low.  I  shall  not  say  which  side  Firniin's  biographer  took  in  this 
matter.  Was  it  my  business  to  applaud  or  rebuke  him  for  being 
humble-minded,  or  was  I  called  upon  to  advise  at  all  1  My  amiable 
reader,  acknowledge  that  you  and  I  in  life  pretty  much  go  our  own 
way.  We  eat  the  dishes  we  like  because  we  like  them,  not  because 
our  neighbour  relishes  them.  We  rise  early,  or  sit  up  late ;  we 
work,  idle,  smoke,  or  what  not,  because  we  choose  so  to  do,  not 
because  the  doctor  orders.  Philip,  then,  was  like  you  and  me, 
who  will  have  our  own  way  when  we  can.  Will  we  not  ?  If  you 
won't,  you  do  not  deserve  it.  Instead  of  hungering  after  a  stalled 
ox,  he  was  accustoming  himself  to  be  content  with  a  dinner  of  herbs. 
Instead  of  braving  the  tempest,  he  chose  to  take  in  sail,  creep  along 
shore,  and  wait  for  calmer  weather. 

So,  on  Tuesday  of  every  week  let  us  say,  it  was  this  modest 
sub-editor's  duty  to  begin  snipping  and  pasting  paragraphs  for  the 
ensuing  Saturday's  issue.  He  cut  down  the  parliamentary  speeches, 
giving  due  favouritism  to  the  orators  of  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette 
party,  and  meagre  outlines  of  their  opponent's  discourses.  If  the 
leading  public  men  on  the  side  of  the  Fall  Hall  Gazette  gave 
entertainments,  you  may  be  sure  they  were  duly  chronicled  in  the 
fashionable  intelligence ;  if  one  of  their  party  wrote  a  book  it  was 
pretty  sure  to  get  praise  from  the  critic.  I  am  speaking  of  simple 
old  days,  you  understand.  Of  course  there  is  no  puffing,  or  jobbing, 
or  false  praise,  or  unfair  censure  now.  Every  critic  knows  what  he 
is  writing  about,  and  writes  with  no  aim  but  to  tell  truth. 

Thus  Philip,  the  dandy  of  two  years  back,  was  content  to  wear 
the  shabbiest  old  coat ;  Philip,  the  Philipi^us  of  one-and-twenty, 
who  rode  showy  horses,  and  rejoiced  to  display  his  horse  and  person 
in  the  park,  now  humbly  took  his  place  in  an  omnibus,  and  only 
on  occasions  indulged  in  a  cab.  From  the  roof  of  the  larger  vehicle 
he  would  salute  his  friends  with  perfect  affability,  and  stare  down 
on  his  aunt  as  she  i:)assed  in  her  barouche.  He  never  could  be 
quite  made  to  acknowledge  that  she  purposely  would  not  see  him ; 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     487 

or  he  would  attribute  her  blindness  to  the  quarrel  which  they  had 
had,  not  to  his  poverty  and  present  position.  As  for  his  cousin 
Ringwood,  "  That  fellow  would  commit  any  baseness,"  Philip  acknow- 
ledged ;  "and  it  is  I  wlio  have  cut  him,'"  cur  friend  averred. 

A  real  danger  Avas  lest  our  friend  should  in  his  poverty  become 
more  haughty  and  insolent  than  he  had  been  in  his  days  of  better 
fortune,  and  that  he  should  make  companions  of  men  who  were  not 
his  equals.  Whether  was  it  better  for  him  to  be  slighted  in  a 
fashionable  club,  or  to  swagger  at  the  head  of  the  comixiny  in  a 
tavern  parlour  ?  This  was  the  danger  we  might  fear  for  Firrnin. 
It  was  impossible  not  to  confess  that  he  was  choosing  to  take  a 
lower  place  in  the  world  than  that  to  which  he  had  been  born. 

"Do  you  mean  that  Philip  is  lowered,  because  he  is  poor"?" 
asked  an  angry  lady,  to  wliom  this  remark  was  made  by  her 
husband — man  and  wife  being  both  very  good  friends  to  Mr. 
Firmin. 

"  My  dear,"  replies  the  worldling  of  a  husband,  "  suppose  Philip 
were  to  take  a  fancy  to  buy  a  donkey  and  sell  cabbages  1  He  would 
be  doing  no  harm ;  but  there  is  no  doubt  he  would  lower  himself 
in  the  world's  estimation." 

"  Lower  himself !  "  says  the  lady,  with  a  toss  of  her  head.  "  No 
man  lowers  himself  by  pursuing  an  honest  calling.     No  man  !  " 

"  Very  good.  There  is  Grundsell,  the  greengrocer,  out  of 
Tuthill  Street,  who  waits  at  our  dinners.  Instead  of  asking  him 
to  wait,  we  should  beg  him  to  sit  down  at  table ;  or  perhaps  ire 
should  wait,  and  stand  with  a  napkin  behind  Grundsell." 

"  Nonsense  ! 

"Grundscll's  calling  is  strictly  honest,  unless  he  abuses  his 
opportunities,  and  snuiggles  away " 

" smuggles  away  stuff  and  nonsense  !  " 


"Very  good:  Grundsell  is  not  a  fitting  com])anion,  then,  for 
us,  or  the  nine  little  Grundsells  for  our  children.  Then  why  shouhl 
Philip  give  up  the  friends  of  his  youth,  and  forsake  a  club  for  a 
tavern  parlour?  You  can't  say  our  little  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon, 
good  as  she  is,  is  a  fitting  companion  for  him  1 " 

"If  he  had  a  good  little  wife,  he  would  have  a  conipiuiion  of 
his  own  degree  ;  and  he  would  be  twice  as  hai)py  ;  and  he  would 
be  out  of  all  danger  and  tem])tation — and  the  best  thing  he  can 
do  is  to  marry  directly  ! "  cries  the  lady.  "  And,  my  dear,  I 
think  I  shall  write  to  Oiiarlotte  and  ask  her  to  come  and  stay 
with  us." 

There  was  no  withstanding  tliis  argument.  As  long  as  Char- 
lotte was  with  us  Ave  were  sure  that  Phili]i  would  be  out  of  harm's 
way,  and  seek   for  no  other  company.     There   was  a  snug  little 


488  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

bedroom  close  hj  the  quarters  inhabited  by  out  own  children. 
My  wife  pleased  herself  by  adorning  this  chamber,  and  Uncle  Mac 
happening  to  come  to  London  on  business  about  this  time,  the 
young  lady  came  over  to  us  under  his  convoy,  and  I  should  like 
to  describe  the  meeting  between  her  and  Mr.  Philip  in  our  parlour. 
No  doubt  it  was  very  edifying.  But  my  wife  and  I  were  not 
present,  vous  concevez.  We  only  heard  one  shout  of  surprise  and 
delight  from  Philip  as  he  went  into  the  room  where  the  young  lady 
was  waiting.  We  had  but  said,  "  Go  into  the  parlour,  Philip.  You 
will   find   your  old   friend    Major    Mac   there.       He   has   come  to 

London  on  business,  and  has  news  of "     There  was  no  need 

to  speak,  for  here  Philip  straightway  bounced  into  the  room. 

And  then  came  the  shout.  And  then  out  came  Major  Mac, 
with  such  a  droll  twinkle  in  his  eyes !  What  artifices  and  hypo- 
crisies had  we  not  to  practise  previously,  so  as  to  keep  our  secret 
from  our  children,  who  assuredly  would  have  discovered  it !  I 
must  tell  you  that  the  paterfamilias  had  guarded  against  the 
innocent  prattle  and  inquiries  of  the  children  regarding  the  prepara- 
tion of  the  little  bedroom,  by  informing  them  that  it  was  intended 
for  Miss  Grigsby,  the  governess  with  whose  advent  they  had  long 
been  threatened.  And  one  of  our  girls  when  the  unconscious  Philip 
arrived,  said,  "Philip,  if  you  go  into  the  parlour,  you  will  find 
Miss  Grigsby,  the  gover7iess,  there."  And  then  Philip  entered  into 
that  parlour,  and  then  arose  that  shout,  and  then  out  came  Uncle 
Mac,  and  then,  &c.  &c.  And  we  called  Charlotte  Miss  Grigsby 
all  dinner-time ;  and  we  called  her  Miss  Grigsby  next  day,  and  the 
more  we  called  her  Miss  Grigsby  the  more  we  all  laughed.  And 
the  baby,  who  could  not  speak  plain  yet,  called  her  Miss  Gibby, 
and  laughed  loudest  of  all;  and  it  was  such  fun.  But  I  think 
Philip  and  Charlotte  had  the  best  of  the  fun,  my  dears,  though  they 
may  not  have  laughed  quite  so  loud  as  we  did. 

As  for  Mrs.  Brandon,  who,  you  may  be  sure,  speedily  came 
to  pay  us  a  visit,  Charlotte  bluslied,  and  looked  quite  beautiful 
when  she  went  up  and  kissed  the  Little  Sister.  "  He  ?Lave  told  you 
about  me,  then  ! "  she  said,  in  her  soft  little  voice,  smoothing  the 
young  lady's  brown  hair.  "  Should  I  have  known  him  at  all  but 
for  you,  and  did  you  not  save  his  life  for  me  when  he  was  ill  1 " 
asked  Miss  Baynes.  "And  mayn't  I  love  everybody  who  loves 
him  ? "  she  asked.  And  we  left  these  women  alone  for  a  quarter 
of  an  hour,  during  which  they  became  the  most  intimate  friends  in 
the  M^orld.  And  all  our  household,  great  and  small,  including  the 
nurse  (a  woman  of  a  most  jealous,  domineering,  and  uncomfortable 
fidelity),  thought  well  of  our  gentle  young  guest,  and  welcomed 
Miss  Grigsby. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     489 

Charlotte,  you  see,  is  not  so  exceedingly  handsome  as  to  cause 
other  women  to  perjure  themselves  by  ])rotesting  that  she  is  no 
gi-oat  things  after  all.  At  the  ])eriod  with  which  we  are  concerned, 
slie  certainly  liad  a  lovely  complexion,  which  her  black  dress  set  otf, 
perhaps.  And  when  Philip  used  to  come  into  the  room,  she  had 
always  a  fine  garland  of  roses  ready  to  offer  him,  and  growing  u])on 
her  cheeks,  the  moment  he  appeared.  Her  manners  are  so  entirely 
unaffected  and  simple  that  they  can't  be  otherwise  than  good  :  for 
is  she  not  grateful,  truthful,  unconscious  of  self,  easily  pleased  and 
interested  in  others'?  Is  she  very  witty?  I  never  said  so — though 
that  she  appreciated  soine  men's  wit  (whose  names  need  not  be 
mentioned)  I  cannot  doubt.  "  I  say,"  cries  Philip,  on  that  memor- 
able first  night  of  her  arrival,  and  when  she  and  other  ladies  liad 
gone  to  bed,  "  by  George  !  isn't  she  glorious,  I  say  !  What  can  I 
have  done  to  win  such  a  pure  little  heart  as  that?  J\^oji  sum 
dignus.  It  is  too  much  hapi)iness — ^too  much,  by  George  !  "  And 
his  voice  breaks  behind  his  i)ipe,  and  he  scjueezes  two  fists  into  eyes 
tiiat  are  brimful  of  joy  and  thanks.  Where  Fortune  bestows  sucli 
a  bounty  as  this,  I  think  we  need  not  pity  a  man  for  what  she 
withdraws.  As  Philip  walks  away  at  midnight  (walks  iiway?  is 
turned  out  of  doors ;  or  surely  he  would  have  gone  on  talking  till 
dawn),  with  the  rain  beating  in  his  face,  and  fifty  or  a  hundred 
pounds  for  all  his  fortune  in  his  pocket,  I  think  there  goes  one  of 
the  happiest  of  men — the  happiest  and  richest.  For  is  he  not 
possessor  of  a  treasure  which  he  could  not  buy,  or  would  not  sell, 
for  all  the  wealtli  of  the  world  1 

My  wife  may  say  what  she  will,  but  she  assuredly  is  answerable 
for  the  invitation  to  Miss  Baynes,  and  for  all  that  ensued  in  conse- 
quence. At  a  hint  that  she  would  be  a  welcome  guest  in  our  house, 
in  London,  where  all  her  heart  and  treasure  lay,  Charlotte  Baynes 
gave  up  straightway  her  dear  aunt  at  Tours,  who  had  been  kind  to 
her ;  her  dear  uncle,  her  dear  mamma,  and  all  her  dear  brothers — • 
following  that  natural  law  which  ordains  that  a  woman,  under  certain 
circumstances,  shall  resign  home,  parents,  brothers,  sisters,  for  the 
sake  of  that  one  individual  who  is  henceforth  to  be  dearer  to  her 
than  all.  Mrs.  Baynes,  tlie  widow,  growled  a  complaint  at  her 
daugliter's  ingratitude,  but  did  not  refuse  her  consent.  She  may 
liave  known  tliat  little  Hely,  Charlotte's  volatile  admirer,  had 
fluttered  off  to  another  flower  by  this  time,  and  that  a  pursuit  of 
tliat  buttei-fly  was  in  vain  :  or  she  may  have  heard  that  he  was 
going  to  ])ass  tlie  spring — the  butterfly  season — in  London,  and 
hoped  that  he  perchance  nnght  again  light  on  her  girl.  Howbeit, 
she  was  glad  enougli  tliat  her  daughter  should  accejjt  an  invitation 
to  our  house,  and  owned  that  as  yet  the  jioor  child's  share  of  this 


490  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

life's  pleasures  had  been  but  small.  Charlotte's  modest  little  trunks 
were  again  packed,  then,  and  the  poor  child  was  sent  off,  I  won't 
say  with  how  small  a  provision  of  pocket-money,  by  her  mother. 
But  the  thrifty  woman  had  but  little,  and  of  it  was  determined  to 
give  as  little  as  she  could.  "  Heaven  will  provide  for  my  child," 
she  would  piously  say ;  and  hence  interfered  very  little  with  those 
agents  whom  Heaven  sent  to  befriend  her  children.  "  Her  mother 
told  Charlotte  that  she  would  send  her  some  money  next  Tuesday," 
the  Major  told  us ;  "  but,  between  ourselves,  I  doubt  whether  she 
will.  Between  ourselves,  my  sister-in-law  is  always  going  to  give 
jnoney  next  Tuesday :  but  somehow  Wednesday  comes,  and  the 
money  has  not  arrived.  I  could  not  let  the  little  maid  be  without 
a  few  guineas,  and  have  provided  her  out  of  a  half-pay  purse ;  but 
mark  me,  that  pay-day  Tuesday  will  never  come."  Shall  I  deny  or 
confirm  the  worthy  Major's  statement  1  Thus  far  I  will  say,  that 
Tuesday  most  certainly  came ;  and  a  letter  from  her  mamma  to 
Charlotte,  which  said  that  one  of  her  brothers  and  a  younger  sister 
were  going  to  stay  with  Aunt  Mac ;  and  that  as  Char  was  so  happy 
with  her  inost  hospitable  and  kind  friends,  a  fond  widowed  mother, 
who  had  given  up  all  pleasures  for  herself,  would  not  interfere  to 
prevent  a  darling  child's  happiness. 

It  has  been  said  that  three  women,  whose  names  have  been 
given  up,  were  conspiring  in  the  behalf  of  this  young  person  and 
the  young  man  her  sweetheart.  Three  days  after  Charlotte's 
arrival  at  our  house,  my  wife  persists  in  thinking  that  a  drive 
into  the  country  would  do  the  child  good,  orders  a  brougham, 
dresses  Charlotte  in  her  best,  and  trots  away  to  see  Mrs.  Mugford 
at  Hampstead.  Mrs.  Brandon  is  at  Mrs.  Mugford's,  of  course  quite 
by  chance :  and  I  feel  sure  that  Charlotte's  friend  compliments 
Mrs.  Mugford  upon  her  garden,  upon  her  mirsery,  upon  her 
luncheon,  upon  everything  that  is  hers.  "  Wliy,  dear  me,"  says 
Mrs.  Mugford  (as  tlie  ladies  discourse  upon  a  certain  subject), 
"  what  does  it  inatter  1  Me  and  Mugford  married  on  two  pound 
a  week  ;  and  on  two  pound  a  week  my  dear  eldest  children  were 
horn.  It  was  a  hard  struggle  sometimes,  but  we  were  all  the 
happier  for  it ;  and  I'm  sure  if  a  man  won't  risk  a  little  he  don't 
deserve  much.  I  know  /  would  risk,  if  I  were  a  man,  to  marry 
such  a  pretty  young  dear.  And  I  should  take  a  young  man  to 
be  but  a  mean-spirited  fellow  who  waited  and  went  shilly-shallying 
when  he  had  but  to  say  the  word  and  be  happy.  I  thought  Mr.  F. 
was  a  brave  courageous  gentleman,  I  did,  Mrs.  Brandon.  Do  you 
want  me  for  to  have  a  bad  opinion  of  him?  My  dear,  a  little  of 
that  cream.  It's  very  good.  We  'ad  a  dinner  yesterday,  and  a 
cook  down  from  town,  on  purpose."     This  speech,  with  appropriate 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE   WORLD     491 

imitations  of  voice  and  gesture,  was  repeated  to  the  present 
biographer  by  the  present  biographer's  wife,  and  he  now  began  to 
see  in  what  webs  and  meshes  of  conspiracy  tliese  artful  women  had 
enveloped  the  subject  of  tlie  present  biograjihy. 

Like  Mrs.  lirandon,  and  the  otiier  matron,  Charlotte's  friend, 
Mrs.  Mugford  became  interested  in  the  gentle  young  creature,  and 
Icissed  lier  kindly,  and  made  her  a  present  on  going  away.  It  was 
a  brooc^li  in  the  shajje  of  a  thistle,  if  I  remember  aright,  set  with 
amethysts  and  a  lovely  Scottish  stone  called,  I  believe,  a  cairn- 
gorm. "  She  ain't  no  style  about  her  ;  and  I  confess,  from  a 
general's  daughter,  brought  up  on  the  Continent,  I  should  have 
expected  better.  But  we'll  show  her  a  little  of  the  world  and  the 
opera,  Brandon,  and  she'll  do  very  well,  of  that  I  make  no  doubt." 
And  Mrs.  Mugford  took  Miss  Baynes  to  the  opera,  and  pointed 
out  the  other  j^eople  of  fashion  there  assembled.  And  delighted 
Charlotte  was.  I  make  no  doubt  there  was  a  young  gentleman 
of  our  acquaintance  at  the  back  of  the  box  who  was  very  happy 
too.  And  this  year,  Philip's  kinsman's  wife.  Lady  Ringwood, 
had  a  box,  in  which  Philip  saw  her  and  her  daughters,  and  little 
Ringwood  Twysden  paying  assiduous  court  to  her  Ladyshij).  They 
met  in  the  crush-room  by  chance  again,  and  Lady  Ringwood  lookeil 
hard  at  Philip  and  the  blushing  young  lady  on  his  arm.  And  it 
happened  that  Mrs.  Mugford's  carriage — the  little  one-horse  trap 
which  opens  and  shuts  so  conveniently — and  Lady  Ringwood's  tall 
emblazoned  chariot  of  state,  stopped  the  way  together.  And  from 
the  tall  emblazoned  chariot  the  ladies  looked  not  unkindly  at  the 
trap  which  contained  the  beloved  of  Philip's  heart :  and  the 
carriages  dei)arted  each  on  its  way ;  and  Ringwood  Twysden, 
seeing  his  cousin  advancing  towai-ds  him,  turned  very  pale,  and 
dodged  at  a  double  quick  down  an  arcade.  But  he  need  not 
have  been  afraid  of  Philip.  Mr.  Firmin's  heart  was  all  softness 
and  benevolence  at  that  time.  He  was  thinking  of  those  sweet 
sweet  eyes  that  had  just  glanced  to  him  a  tender  good-night ;  of 
that  little  hand  which  a  moment  since  had  hung  with  fond  jiressure 
1)11  his  arm.  Do  you  supjjose  in  such  a  frame  of  mind  he  had 
leisure  to  think  of  a  nauseous  little  reptile  crawling  behind  him  1 
He  was  so  happy  that  night,  that  Philip  was  King  Philip  again. 
And  he  went  to  the  "  Haunt,"  and  sang  his  song  of  "  Garryowen 
na  Gloria,"  and  greeted  the  boys  assembled,  and  spent  at  least 
three  shillings  over  his  supper  and  drinks.  But  the  next  day 
being  Sunday,  Mr.  Firmin  was  at  Westminster  Abbey,  listening 
to  the  sweet  chun-h  chants,  liy  the  side  of  the  very  same  young 
l»erson  whom  he  had  escorted  to  the  opera  on  the  night  before. 
They  sat  together  so  close  that  one  must  have  heard  exactly  as  well 


492  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

as  the  other.  I  daresay  it  is  edifying  to  listen  to  anthems  a  deux. 
And  how  complimentary  to  the  clergyman  to  have  to  wish  that 
the  sermon  was  longer  !  Through  the  vast  cathedral  aisles  the  organ 
notes  peal  gloriously.  Ruby  and  topaz  and  amethyst  blaze  from 
the  great  church  windows.  Under  the  tall  arcades  the  young  people 
went  together.     Hand  in  hand  they  passed,  and  thought  no  ill. 

Do  gentle  readers  begin  to  tire  of  this  spectacle  of  billing 
and  cooing  ?  I  have  tried  to  describe  Mr.  Philip's  love  affairs  with 
as  few  words  and  in  as  modest  phrases  as  may  be — omitting  the 
raptures,  the  passionate  vows,  tlie  reams  of  correspondence,  and  the 
usual  commonplaces  of  his  situation.  And  yet,  my  dear  madam, 
though  you  and  I  may  be  i^ast  the  age  of  billing  and  cooing,  tliough 
your  ringlets,  which  I  remember  a  lovely  auburn,  are  now — well — 
are  now  a  rich  purple  and  green  black,  and  my  brow  may  be  as 
bald  as  a  cannon-ball ; — I  say,  tliough  we  are  old,  we  are  not  too 
old  to  forget.  We  may  not  care  about  the  pantomime  nuich  now, 
but  we  like  to  take  tlie  young  folks,  and  see  them  rejoicing.  From 
the  window  where  I  write,  I  can  look  down  into  the  garden  of  a 
certain  square.  In  that  garden  I  can  at  this  moment  see  a  young 
gentleman  and  lady  of  my  acquaintance  pacing  up  and  down.  They 
are  talking  some  such  talk  as  Milton  imagines  our  first  parents 
engaged  in ;  and  yonder  garden  is  a  paradise  to  my  young  friends. 
Did  they  choose  to  look  outside  the  railings  of  the  square,  or  at 
any  other  objects  than  each  other's  noses,  they  might  see — the  tax- 
gatherer  we  will  say — with  his  book,  knocking  at  one  door,  the 
doctor's  brougham  at  a  second,  a  hatchment  over  the  windows  of 
a  third  mansion,  the  baker's  boy  discoursing  Avith  the  housemaid 
over  the  railings  of  a  fourth.  But  what  to  them  are  these  pheno- 
mena of  life"?  Arm  in  arm  my  young  folks  go  pacing  up  and 
down  their  Eden,  and  discoursing  about  that  happy  time  which 
I  suppose  is  now  drawing  near,  about  tliat  charming  little  snuggery 
for  wliich  the  furniture  is  ordered,  and  to  which,  Miss,  your  old 
friend  and  very  humble  servant  will  take  the  liberty  of  forwarding 
his  best  regards  and  a  neat  silver  teapot.  I  daresay,  with  these 
young  people,  as  with  Mr.  Philip  and  Miss  Charlotte,  all  occurrences 
of  life  seem  to  have  reference  to  that  event  which  forms  the  subject 
of  their  perpetual  longing  and  contemplation.  There  is  the  doctor's 
brougham  driving  away,  and  Imogene  says  to  Alonzo,  "What 
anguish  I  sliall  have  if  you  are  ill ! "  Then  there  is  the  carpenter 
putting  up  the  hatchment.  "Ah,  my  love,  if  you  were  to  die, 
I  think  they  miglit  put  up  a  hatchment  for  both  of  us,"  says 
Alonzo,  with  a  killing  sigh.  Both  sympathise  with  Mary  and  the 
baker's  boy  whispering  over  the  railings.  Go  to,  gentle  baker's 
boy,  we  also  know  what  it  is  to  love  ! 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      4.03 

The  whole  soul  and  strength  of  Charlotte  and  Philip  being  bent 
upon  marriage,  I  take  leave  to  put  in  a  document  which  Philip 
received  at  tins  time ;  and  can  imagine  that  it  occasioned  no 
little  sensation  : — 

"  AsTOR  House,  New  York. 

"  And  so  you  are  returned  to  the  great  city — to  the  funium, 
the  strepitum,  and  I  sincerely  hope  the  ojks,  of  our  Rome  !  Your 
own  letters  are  but  brief;  but  I  have  an  occasional  correspondent 
(tliere  are  few,  alas !  who  remember  the  exile !)  who  keeps  me 
<tu  courant  of  my  Philip's  history,  and  tells  me  that  you  are 
industrious,  that  you  are  cheerful,  that  you  prosper.  Cheerfulness 
is  the  companion  of  Industry,  Prosperity  their  offspring.  That  that 
jirosperity  may  attain  the  fullest  growth,  is  an  absent  father's 
fondest  prayer !  Perhaps  ere  long  I  shall  be  able  to  announce  to 
you  that  I  too  am  prospering.  I  am  engaged  in  pursuing  a  scientific 
discovery  here  (it  is  medical,  and  connected  with  my  own  profes- 
sion), of  wliich  tlie  results  ought  to  lead  to  Fortune,  unless  the  jade 
lias  for  ever  deserted  George  Brand  Firmin  !  So  you  have  em- 
l)arked  in  the  drudgery  of  the  press,  and  have  become  a  member  of 
the  fourth  estate.  It  has  been  despised,  and  press-man  and  poverty 
were  for  a  long  time  supposed  to  be  synonymous.  But  the  ])ower, 
the  wealth  of  the  press  are  daily  developing,  and  they  will  increase 
yet  further.  I  confess  I  should  have  liked  to  liear  that  my  Philip 
was  pursuing  his  profession  of  the  bar,  at  which  honour,  sj)lenditl 
competence,  nay,  aristocratic  rank,  are  the  prizes  of  the  bold,  the. 
industrious,  and  the  deserving.  Why  should  you  not  % — should  I 
not  still  hope  that  you  may  gain  legal  eminence  and  position  %  A 
father  who  has  had  nnich  to  suffer,  who  is  descending  the  vale  of 
years  alone  and  in  a  distant  land,  would  be  soothed  in  -his  exile  if 
lie  thought  his  son  would  one  day  be  able  to  repair  tlie  shattered 
fortunes  of  his  race.  But  it  is  not  yet,  I  fondly  think,  too  late. 
You  may  yet  qualify  for  the  bar,  and  one  of  its  prizes  may  fall  to 
you.  I  confess  that  it  was  not  without  a  i)ang  of  grief  I  heard  from 
our  kind  little  friend  Mrs.  B.,  you  were  studying  shorthand  in  order 
to  become  a  news})aper  i-eporter.  And  has  Fortune,  then,  been  so 
relentless  to  me  that  my  son  is  to  be  compelled  to  follow  such  a 
calling  1  I  shall  try  and  be  resigned,  I  had  hoped  higher  things  for 
you — for  me. 

"My  dear  boy,  with  regard  to  your  romantic  attachment  for 
Miss  Baynes,  which  our  good  little  Brandon  narrates  to  me,  in  her 
pecxdiar  orthographg,  l)ut  with  nnich  touching  sinijdicitg — I  make 
it  a  rule  not  to  say  a  word  of  conuneiit,  of  warning,  or  remonstrance. 
As  sure  as  you  arc  your  father's  son,  you  will  take  your  own  line  in 


494  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

any  matter  of  attachment  to  a  woman,  and  all  the  fathers  in  the 
world  won't  stop  you.  In  Pliiliji  of  four-and-twenty  I  recognise  his 
father  thirty  years  ago.  My  father  scolded,  entreated,  quarrelled 
with  me,  never  forgave  me.  I  will  learn  to  be  more  generous 
towards  my  son.  I  may  grieve,  but  I  bear  you  no  malice.  If  ever 
I  achieve  wealth  again,  you  shall  not  be  deprived  of  it.  I  suffered 
so  myself  from  a  harsh  father,  that  I  will  never  be  one  to  my  son  ! 

"  As  you  have  put  on  the  livery  of  the  Muses,  and  regularly 
entered  yourself  of  the  Fraternity  of  the  Press,  what  say  you  to  a 
little  addition  to  your  income  by  letters  addressed  to  my  friend,  the 
editor  of  the  new  journal,  called  here  the  Gazette  of  the  Uj^ter  Ten 
Thousand  1  It  is  the  fashionable  journal  published  here  ;  and  your 
qualifications  are  precisely  those  which  Avould  make  your  services 
valuable  as  a  contributor.  Doctor  Geraldine,  the  editor,  is  not,  I 
believe,  a  relative  of  the  Leinster  family,  but  a  self-made  man,  wlio 
arrived  in  this  country  some  years  since,  poor,  and  an  exile  from 
his  native  country.  He  advocates  Repeal  politics  in  Ireland  ;  but 
with  these  of  course  you  need  have  nothing  to  do.  And  he  is  much 
too  liberal  to  expect  these  from  his  contributors.  I  have  been  of 
service  professionally  to  Mrs.  Geraldine  and  himself.  My  friend  of 
the  Emerald  introduced  me  to  the  Doctor.  Terrible  enemies  in 
print,  in  private  they  are  perfectly  good  friends,  and  the  little 
passages  of  arms  between  the  two  journalists  serve  rather  to  amuse 
than  to  irritate.  '  The  grocer's  boy  from  Ormond  Quay  '  (Geraldine 
once,  it  appears,  engaged  in  that  useful  but  humble  calling),  and 
the  '  miscreant  from  Cork  ' — the  editor  of  the  Emerald  comes  from 
that  city — assail  each  other  in  public,  l)ut  drink  whisky-and-water 
galore  in  private.  If  you  write  for  Geraldine,  of  course  you  will  say 
nothing  disrespectful  about  grocers'  hoys.  His  dollars  are  good 
silver,  of  that  you  may  be  sure.  Dr.  G.  knows  a  part  of  your 
history :  he  knows  that  you  are  now  fairly  engaged  in  literary 
pursuits ;  that  you  are  a  man  of  education,  a  gentleman,  a  man  of 
the  world,  a  man  of  courage.  I  have  answered  for  your  possessing 
all  these  qualities.  (The  Doctor,  in  his  droll  humorous  way,  said 
that  if  you  were  a  chip  of  the  old  block  you  would  be  just  what  he 
called  '  the  grit.')  Political  treatises  are  not  so  much  wanted  as 
personal  news  regarding  the  notabilities  of  London,  and  these,  I 
assured  him,  you  were  the  very  man  to  be  able  to  furnish.  You, 
who  know  everybody ;  who  have  lived  with  the  great  world — the 
world  of  lawyers,  the  world  of  artists,  the  world  of  the  University — 
have  already  had  an  experience  which  few  gentlemen  of  the  press 
can  boast  of,  and  may  turn  that  experience  to  profit.  Suppose  you 
were  to  trust  a  little  to  your  imagination  in  composing  these  letters  1 
there  can  be  no  harm  in   being  poetical.     Suppose  an  intelligent- 


A    I.KTTKR    FROM    NKW    YOKK. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     495 

correspondent  writes  tliat  he  has  met  the  D-ke  of  W-U-iigt-n, 
had  a  private  interview  with  the  Pr-m-r,  and  so  forth,  who  is  to 
say  him  nay?  And  this  is  the  kind  of  talk  our  gohemouches  of 
New  York  delight  in,  ]\Iy  worthy  friend,  Doctor  Geraldine,  for 
example — between  ourselves  his  name  is  Finnigan,  but  his  private 
history  is  strictly  entre  nous — when  he  first  came  to  New  York 
astonished  the  people  by  the  copiousness  of  his  anecdotes  regarding 
the  English  aristocracy,  of  whom  he  knows  as  much  as  he  does  of 
the  Court  of  Pekin.  He  was  smart,  ready,  sarcastic,  amusing ;  he 
found  readers :  from  one  success  he  advanced  to  another,  and  the 
Gazette  of  the  UjJj^er  Ten  Thousand  is  likely  to  make  this  tuorthy 
marCs  fortune.  You  really  may  be  serviceable  to  him,  and  may 
justly  earn  the  liberal  remuneration  which  he  otfers  for  a  weekly 
letter.  Anecdotes  of  men  and  women  of  fashion — the  more  gay  and 
lively  the  more  welcome — the  qtiicquid  agunt  homines,  in  a  word, 
— should  be  the  farrago  libelli.  Who  are  the  reigning  beauties  of 
London  ?  and  Beauty,  you  know,  has  a  rank  and  fashion  of  its  own. 
Has  any  one  lately  won  or  lost  on  the  turf  or  at  play  ?  What  are 
the  clubs  talking  about  1  Are  there  any  duels  ?  What  is  the  last 
scandal  1  Does  the  good  old  Duke  keep  his  health  1  Is  that  affair 
over  between  the  Duchess  of  This  and  Captain  That  1 

"  Such  is  the  information  which  our  hadauds  here  like  to  have, 

and  for  which  my  friend  the  Doc^tor  will  pay  at  the  rate  of 

dollars  per  letter.  Your  name  need  not  appear  at  all.  The  re- 
muneration is  certain.  C^est  a  py-endre  ou  a  laisser,  as  our  lively 
neighbours  say.  Write  in  the  first  i)lace  in  confidence  to  mc ;  and 
in  whom  can  you  confide  more  safi'ly  thnn  in  your  father? 

"  You  will,  of  course,  pay  your  res])ects  to  your  relative  the  imw 
Lord  of  Ringwood.  For  a  young  man  whose  family  is  so  powerful 
as  yours,  there  can  surely  be  no  derogation  in  entertaining  some 
feudal  respect,  and  who  knows  Avliether  and  how  soon  Sir  John 
Ringwood  may  be  able  to  hel])  his  cousin?  By  the  way,  Sir  John 
is  a  Whig,  and  your  i)aper  is  a  Conservative.  But  you  are,  above 
all,  homme  du  monde.  In  such  a  subordinate  place  as  you  occupy 
with  the  Fall  Mall  Gaxette,  a  man's  })i-ivatc  politics  do  not  surely 
count  at  all.  If  Sir  John  Ringwood,  your  kinsman,  sees  any  way 
of  helping  you,  so  much  tlie  better,  and  of  course  your  politics  will 
b(>  those  of  your  family.  I  have  no  knowledge  of  him.  He  was  a 
very  quiet  man  at  college,  where,  I  regret  to  say,  your  father's 
friends  were  not  of  the  (luiet  sort  at  all.  I  trust  I  have  repented. 
I  have  sown  my  wild  oats.  And  ah  !  how  pleased  I  shall  be  to 
hear  that  my  Philip  has  bent  his  proud  head  a  little,  and  is  ready 
to  submit  more  than  he  used  of  old  to  the  customs  of  the  world. 
Call  upon  Sir  John,  then.     As  a  Whig  gentleman  of  large  estate, 


496  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

I  need  not  tell  you  that  he  will  expect  res2'>ect  from  you.  He  is 
your  kinsman  ;  the  representative  of  your  grandfather's  gallaut  and 
noble  race.  He  bears  the  name  your  mother  bore.  To  her  my 
Philip  was  always  gentle,  and  for  her  sake  you  will  comply  with 
the  wishes  of  your  affectionate  father,  G.  B.  F. 

"  I  have  not  said  a  word  of  compliment  to  Mademoiselle.  I 
wish  lier  so  well  that  I  own  I  wish  she  were  about  to  marry  a 
richer  suitor  than  my  dear  son.  Will  fortune  ever  permit  me  to 
embrace  my  daughter-in-law,  and  take  your  children  on  my  knee  % 
You  will  speak  kindly  to  them  of  their  grandfather,  will  you  not  ? 
Poor  General  Baynes,  I  have  heard,  used  violent  and  unseemly 
language  regarding  me,  which  I  most  heartily  pardon.  I  am  grate- 
ful when  I  think  that  I  never  did  General  B.  an  injury :  grateful 
and  proud  to  accept  benefits  from  my  own  son.  These  I  treasure 
up  in  my  heart ;  and  still  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  repay  with  some- 
thing more  substantial  than  my  fondest  prayers.  Give  my  best 
wishes,  then,  to  Miss  Charlotte,  and  try  and  teach  her  to  think 
kindly  of  her  Philip's  father." 

Miss  Charlotte  Baynes,  who  kept  the  name  of  Miss  Grigsby, 
the  governess,  amongst  all  the  roguish  children  of  a  facetious  father, 
was  with  us  one  month,  and  her  mamma  expressed  great  cheerful- 
ness at  her  absence,  and  at  the  thought  that  she  had  found  such 
good  friends.  After  two  months,  her  uncle.  Major  MacWhirter, 
returned  from  visiting  his  relations  in  the  North,  and  offered  to 
take  his  niece  back  to  France  again.  He  made  this  proposition 
with  the  joUiest  air  in  the  world,  and  as  if  his  niece  would  jump  for 
joy  to  go  back  to  her  mother.  But  to  the  Major's  astonishment, 
Miss  Baynes  turned  quite  pale,  ran  to  her  hostess,  flung  herself  into 
that  lady's  arms,  and  then  there  began  an  osculatory  performance 
which  perfectly  astonished  the  good  Major.  Charlotte's  friend, 
holding  Miss  Baynes  tight  in  her  embrace,  looked  fiei'cely  at  the 
Major  over  tlie  girl's  shoulder,  and  defied  him  to  take  her  away 
from  that  sanctuary. 

"  Oh,  you  dear  good  dear  friend  !  "  Charlotte  gurgled  out,  and 
sobbed  I  know  not  what  more  expressions  of  fondness  and  gratitude. 

But  the  truth  is,  that  two  sisters,  or  mother  and  daughter,  could 
not  love  each  other  more  heartily  than  these  two  fjersonages. 
Mother  and  daughter  forsooth  !  You  should  have  seen  Charlotte's 
piteous  look  when  sometimes  the  conviction  would  come  on  her  that 
she  ought  at  length  to  go  home  to  mamma ;  such  a  look  as  I  can 
fancy  Iphigenia  casting  on  Agamemnon,  when,  in  obedience  to  a 
l^ainful  sense  of  duty,  he  was  about  to — to  use  the  sacrificial  knife. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     497 

No,  we  all  loved  her.  The  children  would  howl  at  the  idea  of 
parting  with  their  Miss  Grigsby.  Charlotte,  in  return,  helped 
them  to  very  pretty  lessons  in  music  and  French — served  hot,  as 
it  were,  from  her  own  recent  studies  at  Toui-s — and  a  good  daily 
governess  operated  on  the  rest  of  their  education  to  everybody's 
satisfaction. 

And  so  months  rolled  on  and  our  young  favourite  still  remained 
with  us.  Mamma  fed  the  little  maid's  purse  with  occasional  re- 
mittances ;  and  begged  her  hostess  to  supply  her  with  all  necessary 
articles  from  the  milliner.  Afterwards,  it  is  true,  Mrs.  General 
Baynes  .  .  .  But  why  enter  upon  these  painful  family  disputes 
in  a  chapter  which  has  been  devoted  to  sentiment  ? 

As  soon  as  Mr.  Firmin  received  the  letter  above  faithfully 
copied  (with  the  exception  of  the  pecuniary  offer,  which  I  do  not 
consider  myself  at  liberty  to  divulge),  he  hurried  down  from  Thorn- 
haugh  Street  to  Westminster.  He  dashed  by  Buttons,  the  i)age ; 
he  took  no  notice  of  my  wondering  wife  at  the  drawing-room  door ; 
he  rushed  to  the  second-floor,  bursting  open  the  schoolroom  door, 
where  Charlotte  was  teaching  our  dear  third  daughter  to  play  "  In 
my  Cottage  near  a  Wood." 

"  Charlotte  !  Chariotte  !  "  he  cried  out. 

"  La,  Philip  !  don't  you  see  Miss  Grigsby  is  giving  us  lessons  1  " 
said  the  children. 

But  he  would  not  listen  to  those  wags,  and  still  beckoned 
Charlotte  to  him.  That  young  woman  rose  up  and  followed  him 
out  of  the  door,  as,  indeed,  she  would  liave  followed  him  out  of 
the  window  ;  and  there,  on  the  stairs,  they  read  Dr.  Firniin's  letter, 
with  their  heads  quite  close  together,  you  understand. 

"  Two  hundred  a  year  more,"  said  Philip,  his  heart  throbbing 
so  that  he  could  hardly  speak  ;  "  and  your  fifty — and  two  hundred 
the  Gazette — and "' 

"Oh,  Philip!"  was  all  Charlotte  could  say,  and  then There 

was  a  pretty  group  for  the  children  to  see,  and  for  an  artist  to  draw  ! 


CHAPTER    XXXII 

fFAYS  A\D  MEANS 

OF  course  any  man  of  the  world,  who  is  possessed  of  decent 
prudence,  will  perceive  that  the  idea  of  marrying  on  four 
hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  so  secured  as  was  Master 
Philip's  income,  was  preposterous  and  absurd.  In  the  first  place, 
you  can't  live  on  four  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  that  is  a 
certainty.  People  do  live  on  less,  I  believe.  But  a  life  without 
a  brougham,  without  a  decent  house,  without  claret  for  dinner,  and 
a  footman  to  wait,  can  hardly  be  called  existence.  Philip's  income 
might  foil  any  day.  He  might  not  please  the  American  paper. 
He  might  quarrel  with  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette.  And  then  what 
would  remain  to  him  1  Only  poor  little  Charlotte's  fifty  pounds 
a  year !  So  Philip's  most  intimate  male  friend — a  man  of  the 
world,  and  with  a  good  deal  of  experience  —  argued.  Of  course  I 
was  not  surprised  that  Philip  did  not  choose  to  take  my  advice ; 
though  I  did  not  expect  he  would  become  so  violently  angry,  call 
names  almost,  and  use  most  rude  expressions,  when,  at  his  express 
desire,  tliis  advice  was  tendered  to  him.  If  he  did  not  want  it, 
why  did  he  ask  for  it  1  The  advice  might  be  unwelcome  to  him, 
but  why  did  he  choose  to  tell  me  at  my  own  table,  over  my  own 
claret,  that  it  was  the  advice  of  a  sneak  and  a  worldling  ?  "  My 
good  fellow,  that  claret,  though  it  is  a  second  growth,  and  I  can 
afford  no  better,  cost  seventy-two  shillings  a  dozen.  How  much 
is  six  times  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  ?  A  bottle  a  day  is  the 
least  you  can  calculate  "  (the  fellow  would  come  to  my  house  and 
drink  two  bottles  to  himself,  with  the  utmost  nonchalance).  "  A 
bottle  per  diem  of  that  light  claret — of  that  second-growth  stuff" — ■ 
costs  one  hundred  and  four  guineas  a  year,  do  you  understand? 
or,  to  speak  plainly  with  you,  one  hundred  and  nine  pounds  four 
shillings  I  " 

"Well,"  says  Philip,  "aprfes*?  We'll  do  without.  Meantime 
I  will  take  what  I  can  get !  "  and  he  tosses  off"  about  a  pint  as  he 
speaks  (these  mousseline  glasses  are  not  only  enormous,  but  they 
break  by  dozens).  He  tosses  oft'  a  pint  of  my  Larose,  and  gives  a 
great  roar  of  laughter,  as  if  he  had  said  a  good  tiling ! 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      49.0 

Philip  Firmin  /,s  coarse  and  offensive  at  times,  and  Bickerton 
in  holding  this  opinion  is  not  altogether  wrong. 

"I'll  drink  claret  when  I  come  to  you,  old  boy,"  he  says, 
grinning;  "and  at  home  I  will  have  whisky-and-water." 

"  Bnt  suppose  Cliarlotte  is  ordered  claret !  " 

"Well,  she  can  have  it,"  says  this  liberal  lover;  "a  bottle  will 
last  her  a  week." 

"Don't  you  see,"  I  shriek  out,  "that  even  a  bottle  a  week 
costs  something  like — six  by  fifty-two — eighteen  pounds  a  year  !  " 
(I  own  it  is  really  only  fifteen  twelve;  but,  in  the  hurry  of  argument, 
a  man  viay  stretch  a  figure  or  so.)  "Eighteen  pounds  for  Charlotte's 
claret ;  as  much,  at  least,  you  great  boozy  toper,  for  your  whisky 
and  beer.  Why,  you  actually  want  a  tenth  part  of  your  income 
for  the  liquor  you  consume  !  And  then  clothes  ;  and  then  lodging  ; 
and  then  coals  ;  and  then  doctor's  bills ;  and  then  pocket-money ; 
and  then  seaside  for  the  little  dears.  Just  have  the  kindness  to 
add  these  things  up,  and  you  will  find  that  you  have  about  two- 
and-ninepence  left  to  pay  the  grocer  and  the  butcher." 

"  What  you  call  prudence,"  says  Philip,  thumping  the  table 
and,  of  course,  breaking  a  glass,  "  I  call  cowardice — I  call  blas- 
phemy !  Do  you  mean,  as  a  Christian  man,  to  tell  me  that  two 
young  people  and  a  family,  if  it  should  please  Heaven  to  send  them 
one,  cannot  subsist  upon  five  hundred  pounds  a  year  ?  Look  round, 
sir,  at  the  myriads  of  God's  creatures  who  live,  love,  are  happy  and 
poor,  and  be  ashamed  of  the  wicked  doubt  which  you  utter  !  "  And 
he  starts  up,  and  strides  up  and  down  the  dining-room,  curling  his 
flaming  moustache,  and  rings  the  bell  fiercely,  and  says,  "  Johnson, 
I've  broke  a  glass.     Get  nie  anotlier." 

In  the  drawing-room,  my  wife  asks  what  we  two  were  fighting 
about  ]  And,  as  Charlotte  is  upstairs,  telling  the  children  stories 
as  they  are  put  to  bed,  or  writing  to  her  dear  mamma,  or  what 
not,  our  friend  bursts  out  with  more  rude  and  violent  expressions 
than  he  had  used  in  the  dining-room  over  my  glasses  which  he  was 
smashing,  tells  my  own  wife  that  I  am  an  atheist,  or  at  best  a 
nuserable  sceptic  and  Sadducee  :  that  I  doubt  of  the  goodness  of 
Heaven,  an<l  am  not  thankful  for  my  daily  bread.  And,  with  one 
of  her  kindling  looks  directed  towards  the  young  man,  of  course  my 
wife  sides  with  him.  Miss  Char  presently  came  down  from  the 
young  folks,  and  went  to  the  piano  and  ])layed  us  Beethoven's 
"  Dream  of  Saint  Jerome,"  whicli  always  soothes  me,  and  charms 
me,  so  that  I  fancy  it  is  a  poem  of  Tennyson  in  music.  And  our 
children,  as  they  sink  off"  to  sleep  overliead,  like  to  hear  soft  music, 
which  soothes  them  into  slumber,  Miss  Baynes  says.  And  Miss 
Charlotte  looks  very  pretty  at  her  i)iano  :  and  Philip  lies  gazing  at 


500  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

her ;  with  his  great  feet  and  hands  tumbled  over  one  of  our  arm- 
chairs. And  the  music,  with  its  solemn  cheer,  makes  us  all  very 
happy  and  kind-hearted,  and  ennobles  us  somehow  as  we  listen. 
And  my  wife  wears  her  benedictory  look  whenever  she  turns 
towards  these  young  people.  She  has  worked  herself  up  to  the 
opinion  that  yonder  couple  ought  to  marry.  She  can  give  chapter 
and  verse  for  her  belief.  To  doubt  about  the  matter  at  all  is 
wicked  according  to  her  notions.  And  there  are  certain  points 
upon  which,  I  humbly  own,  that  I  don't  dare  to  argue  with  her. 

When  the  women  of  the  house  have  settled  a  matter,  is  there 
much  use  in  man's  resistance  1  If  my  harem  orders  that  I  shall 
wear  a  yellow  coat  and  pink  trousers,  I  know  that,  before  three 
months  are  over,  I  shall  be  walking  about  in  rose-tendre  and  canary- 
coloured  garments.  It  is  the  i^erseverance  which  conquers,  the 
daily  return  to  the  object  desii'ed.  Take  my  advice,  my  dear  sir, 
when  you  see  your  womankind  resolute  about  a  matter,  give  up  at 
once,  and  have  a  quiet  life.  Perhaps  to  one  of  these  evening 
entertainments,  where  Miss  Baynes  played  the  piano,  as  she  did 
very  pleasantly,  and  Mr.  Philip's  great  clumsy  fist  turned  the 
leaves,  little  Mrs.  Brandon  would  come  tripping  in,  and  as  she 
surveyed  the  young  couple,  her  remark  would  be,  "Did  you  ever 
see  a  better  suited  couple  1  When  I  came  home  from  chambers, 
and  passed  the  dining-room  door,  my  eldest  daughter  with  a  know- 
ing face  would  bar  the  way  and  say,  "  You  mustn't  go  in  there, 
papa !  Miss  Grigsby  is  there,  and  Master  Philip  is  not  to  be  dis- 
turbed at  his  lessons ! "  Mrs.  Mugford  had  begun  to  arrange 
marriages  between  her  young  people  and  ours  from  the  very  first 
day  she  saw  us  ;  and  Mrs.  M.'s  ch.  filly  Toddles,  rising  two  years, 
and  our  three-year-old  colt  Billyboy,  were  rehearsing  in  the  nursery 
the  endless  little  comedy  which  the  grown-up  young  persons  were 
performing  in  the  drawing-room. 

With  the  greatest  frankness  Mrs.  Mugford  gave  her  opinion  that 
Philip,  with  four  or  five  hundred  a  year,  would  be  no  better  than  a 
sneak  if  he  delayed  to  marry.  How  much  had  she  and  Mugford 
when  they  married,  she  would  like  to  know  1  "  Emily  Street, 
Pentonville,  was  where  toe  had  apartments,"  she  remarked ;  "  we 
were  pinched  sometimes ;  but  we  owed  nothing :  and  our  house- 
keeping books  I  can  show  you."  I  believe  Mrs.  M.  actually 
brought  these  dingy  relics  of  her  honeymoon  for  my  wife's  inspection. 
I  tell  you,  my  house  was  peopled  with  these  friends  of  matrimony. 
Flies  were  for  ever  in  requisition,  and  our  boys  were  very  sulky  at 
having  to  sit  for  an  hour  at  Shoolbred's,  while  certain  ladies 
lingered  there  over  blankets,  tablecloths,  and  what  not.  Once  I 
found  my  wife  and  Charlotte  flitting  about  Wardour  Street,  the 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     f.Ol 

former  lady  much  interested  in  a  great  Dutch  cabinet,  with  a  glass 
cupboard  and  corpulent  drawers.  And  that  cabinet  was,  ere  long, 
carted  off  to  Mrs.  Brandon's,  Thornhaugh  Street ;  and  in  that  glass 
cupboard  tliere  was  presently  to  be  seen  a  neat  set  of  china  for  tea 
and  breakfast.  The  end  was  approaching.  That  event,  with  which 
the  third  volume  of  tlie  old  novels  used  to  close,  was  at  hand.  I 
am  afraid  our  young  people  can't  drive  off  from  St.  George's  in  a 
chaise  and  four,  and  tliat  no  noble  relative  will  lend  them  his  castle 
for  the  honeymoon.  Well :  some  people  cannot  drive  to  ha])piness, 
even  witli  four  horses ;  and  otlier  folks  can  reach  the  goal  on  foot. 
My  venerable  Muse  stoops  down,  unlooses  her  cothurnus  Avith  some 
difficulty,  ajid  ])repares  to  fling  that  old  shoe  after  the  pair. 

Tell,  venerable  Muse  !  what  were  the  marriage  gifts  which  friend- 
ship provided  for  Philip  and  Charlotte  1  Philii)'s  cousin,  Ringwood 
Twysden,  came  simpering  up  to  me  at  "  Bays's  Club  "  one  afternoon, 
and  said  :  "  I  hear  my  precious  cousin  is  going  to  marry.  I  think 
I  shall  send  iiim  a  broom  to  sweep  a  crossin'."  I  was  nearly  going 
to  say,  "  This  was  a  piece  of  generosity  to  be  expected  from  your 
father's  son  ; "  but  the  fact  is,  that  I  did  not  think  of  this  withering 
repartee  until  I  was  crossing  St.  James's  Park  on  my  way  home, 
when  Twysden  of  course  was  out  of  ear-shot.  A  great  numljcr  of 
my  best  witticisms  have  been  a  little  late  in  making  their  appear- 
ance in  the  world.  If  we  could  but  hear  the  w^ispoken  jokes,  how 
we  should  all  laugh  ;  if  Ave  could  but  speak  them,  how  witty  we 
should  be  !  Wlien  you  have  left  the  room,  you  have  no  notion 
what  clever  things  I  was  going  to  say  Avhen  you  baulked  me  by 
going  away.  Well,  then,  the  fact  is,  the  Twysden  family  gave 
Philip  nothing  on  his  marriage,  being  the  exact  sum  of  regard  which 
tliey  professed  to  have  for  him. 

Mrs.  Major  MacWhirter  gave  the  bride  an  Indian  brooch, 
representing  the  Taj  Malial  at  Agra,  wliich  General  Baynes  ha(l 
given  to  his  sister-in-law  in  old  days.  At  a  later  period,  it  is  true, 
Mrs.  Mac  asked  Charlotte  for  the  brooch  back  again  ;  but  this  was 
when  many  family  (juarrels  had  raged  between  the  relatives — ([uai-rcls 
which  to  describe  at  length  would  be  to  tax  too  much  tlie  writer 
and  the  readers  of  this  history. 

Mrs.  Mugforu  jjresented  an  elegant  i)lated  coffee-pot,  six  draw- 
ing-room almanacs  (spoils  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette),  and  fourteen 
richly  cut  jelly-glasses,  most  useful  for  negus  if  the  young  coui)le 
gave  evening  parties ;  for  dinners  they  would  not  be  able  to  afford 

Mrs.  Brandon  made  an  ofiering  of  two  tablecloths  and  twelve 
dinjier  napkins,  most  beautifully  worked,  and  I  don't  know  how 
nmch  house  linen. 

Thr  TjADY  ok  tiik  Presknt  Wiutkr— Twelve  tea-spoons  in 


502  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

bullion,  and  a  i)air  of  sugar-tongs.  Mrs.  Baynes,  Philip's  mother- 
in-law,  sent  him  also  a  pair  of  sugar-tongs,  of  a  light  manufacture, 
easily  broken.  He  keeps  a  tong  to  the  present  day,  and  speaks 
very  satirically  regarding  that  relic. 

Philip's  Inn  of  Court—A  bill  for  commons  and  Inn  taxes, 
with  the  Treasurer's  compliments. 

And  these,  I  tliink,  formed  the  items  of  poor  little  Charlotte's 
meagre  trousseau.  Before  Cinderella  went  to  the  ball  she  was 
almost  as  rich  as  our  little  maid.  Charlotte's  mother  sent  a  grim 
consent  to  the  child's  marriage,  but  declined  herself  to  attend  it. 
She  was  ailing  and  poor.  Her  year's  widowhood  was  just  over. 
She  had  lier  other  children  to  look  after.  My  impression  is  that 
Mrs.  Baynes  thought  she  would  be  out  of  Philip's  power  so  long 
as  she  remained  abroad,  and  that  the  General's  savings  would  be 
secure  from  him.  So  she  delegated  her  authority  to  Philip's  friends 
in  London,  and  sent  her  daughter  a  moderate  wish  for  her  happi- 
ness, which  may  or  may  not  have  profited  the  young  people. 

"  Well,  my  dear,  you  are  rich,  compared  to  what  I  was  when 
I  married,"  little  Mrs.  Brandon  said  to  her  young  friend.  "  You 
will  have  a  good  husband.  That  is  more  than  I  had.  You  will 
have  good  friends ;  and  I  was  almost  alone  for  a  time,  until  it 
pleased  God  to  befriend  me."  It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  awe 
that  we  saw  these  young  people  commence  that  voyage  of  life  on 
which  henceforth  they  were  to  journey  together;  and  I  am  sure 
that  of  the  small  company  who  accompanied  them  to  the  silent 
little  chapel  where  they  were  joined  in  marriage  there  was  not  one 
who  did  not  follow  them  with  tender  good  wishes  and  heartfelt 
prayers.  Tliey  liad  a  little  purse  provided  for  a  montli's  holiday. 
They  had  health,  hope,  good  spirits,  good  friends.  I  have  never 
learned  that  life's  trials  were  over  after  marriage  ;  only  lucky  is 
he  who  has  a  loving  companion  to  share  them.  As  for  the  lady 
with  whom  Charlotte  had  stayed  before  her  marriage,  she  was  in 
a  state  of  the  most  lachrymose  sentimentality.  She  sat  on  the  bed 
in  the  chamber  which  the  little  maid  had  vacated.  Her  tears  flowed 
copiously.  She  knew  not  why,  she  could  not  tell  how  the  girl  had 
wound  herself  round  her  maternal  heart.  And  I  think  if  Heaven 
had  decreed  this  young  creature  should  be  poor,  it  had  sent  her 
many  blessings  and  treasures  in  compensation. 

Every  respectable  man  and  woman  in  London  will,  of  course,  pity 
these  young  people,  and  reprobate  the  mad  risk  which  they  were 
running,  and  yet,  by  the  influence  and  example  of  a  sentimental 
wife  probably,  so  madly  sentimental  have  I  become,  that  I  own  some- 
times I  almost  fancy  tliese  misguided  wretches  were  to  be  envied. 

A  melancholy  little  cliapel   it  is  where  they  were  married,  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     503 

stands  hard  by  our  house.  We  did  not  decorate  the  church  with 
flowers,  or  adorn  the  beadles  with  white  ribbons.  We  had,  I  must 
confess,  a  dreary  little  breakfast,  not  in  the  least  enlivened  by 
Mugford's  jokes,  who  would  make  a  speech  de  circonstatice,  which 
was  not,  I  am  thankful  to  say,  reported  in  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette. 
"  We  shan't  charge  you  for  adveiiising  tlie  marriage  there,  my  dear," 
Mrs.  Mugford  said.  "And  I've  already  took  it  myself  to  Mr. 
Burjoyce."  Mrs.  Mugford  had  insisted  upon  pinning  a  large  white 
favour  upon  John,  who  drove  her  from  Hampstead :  but  that  was 
the  only  ornament  present  at  the  nuptial  ceremony,  much  to  the 
disappointment  of  the  good  lady,  TJiere  was  a  very  pretty  cake, 
with  two  doves  in  sugar  on  the  top,  which  the  Little  Sister  made 
and  sent,  and  no  other  hymeneal  emblem.  Our  little  girls  as 
bridesmaids  appeared,  to  be  sure,  in  new  bonnets  and  dresses,  but 
everybody  else  looked  so  quiet  and  demure,  that  when  we  went 
into  the  church,  three  or  four  street  urchins  knocking  about  the 
gate,  said,  "  Look  at  'em.  They're  going  to  be  'ung."  And  so  the 
words  are  spoken,  and  the  indissoluble  knot  is  tied.  Amen.  For 
better,  for  worse,  for  good  days  or  evil,  love  each  other,  cling  to 
each  other,  dear  friends.  Fultil  your  course,  and  accomplish  your 
life's  toil.  In  sorrow,  soothe  each  other ;  in  illness,  watch  and 
tend.  Cheer,  fond  wife,  tlie  husband's  struggle  ;  lighten  his  gloomy 
hours  with  your  tender  smiles,  and  gladden  his  home  with  your  love. 
Husband,  father,  whatsoever  your  lot,  be  your  heart  pure,  your  life 
honest.  For  the  sake  of  those  who  bear  your  name,  let  no  bad 
action  sully  it.  As  you  look  at  those  innocent  faces,  which  ever 
tenderly  greet  you,  be  yours,  too,  innocent,  and  your  conscience 
without  reproach.  As  the  young  people  kneel  before  tlie  altar- 
railing,  some  such  thoughts  as  these  pass  through  a  friend's  mind 
who  witnesses  the  ceremony  of  their  marriage.  Is  not  all  we  hear 
in  that  place  meant  to  apply  to  ourselves,  and  to  be  carried  away 
for  everyday  cogitation  ? 

After  the  ceremony  avc  sign  the  book,  and  walk  back  demurely 
to  breakfast.  And  Mrs.  Mugford  does  not  conceal  her  disappoint- 
ment at  the  small  prcjjarations  made  for  the  reception  of  the 
marriage  party.  "  I  call  it  shabby,  Brandon  ;  and  I  speak  my 
mind.  No  favours.  Only  your  cake.  No  speeches  to  speak  of 
No  lobster-salad :  and  wine  on  the  sideboard.  I  thought  your 
Queen  Square  friends  knew  how  to  do  the  thing  better !  When 
one  of  my  gurls  is  married,  I  promise  you  we  shan't  let  her  go  out 
of  the  back-door ;  and  at  least  we  shall  have  the  best  foiu"  greys 
that  Newman's  can  furnish.  It's  my  belief  your  young  friend  is 
getting  too  fond  of  money,  Brandon,  and  so  I  have  told  Mugford." 
But   these,    you   see,   were    only   questions    of   taste.     Good    Mrs. 


504  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Mugford's  led  her  to  a  green  satin  dress  and  a  pink  turban,  when 
other  hidies  were  in  grey  or  quiet  colours.  The  intimacy  between 
our  two  families  dwindled  immediately  after  Philip's  marriage; 
Mrs.  M.,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  setting  us  down  as  shabby-genteel 
people,  and  she  couldn't  bear  screwing — never  could ! 

Well :  the  speeches  were  spoken.  The  bride  was  kissed,  and 
departed  with  lier  bridegroom  :  they  had  not  even  a  valet  and 
latly's-maid  to  bear  them  company.  The  route  of  the  happy  pair 
was  to  be  Canterbury,  Folkestone,  Boulogne,  Amiens,  Paris,  and 
Italy  perhaps,  if  their  little  stock  of  pocket-money  would  serve 
them  so  far.  But  the  very  instant  when  half  was  spent,  it  was 
agreed  that  these  young  people  should  turn  their  faces  homeward 
again  ;  and  meanwliile  the  printer  and  Mugford  himself  agreed  that 
they  would  do  Mr.  Sub-editor's  duty.  How  much  had  they  in  the 
little  purse  for  their  pleasure-journey  1  That  is  no  business  of  ours, 
surely ;  but  with  youth,  health,  happiness,  love,  amongst  their 
possessions,  I  don't  think  our  young  friends  had  need  to  be  discon- 
tented. Away  then  they  drive  in  their  cab  to  the  railway  station. 
Farewell,  and  Heaven  bless  you,  Charlotte  and  Philip  !  I  have 
said  how  I  found  my  wife  crying  in  her  favourite's  vacant  bedroom. 
The  marriage  table  did  coldly  furnish  forth  a  funeral  kind  of  dinner. 
The  cold  chicken  choked  us  all,  and  the  jelly  was  but  a  sickly 
compound  to  my  taste,  though  it  was  the  Little  Sister's  most  artful 
manufacture.  I  own  for  one  I  was  quite  miserable.  I  found  no 
comfort  at  clubs,  nor  could  the  last  new  novel  fix  my  attention. 
I  saw  Philip's  eyes,  and  heard  the  warble  of  Charlotte's  sweet 
voice.  I  walked  off  from  "  Bays's,"  and  through  Old  Parr  Street, 
where  Philip  had  lived,  and  his  parents  entertained  me  as  a  boy; 
and  then  tramped  to  Thornhaugh  Street,  rather  ashamed  of  myself. 
The  maid  said  mistress  was  in  Mr.  Philip's  rooms,  the  two  pair, — ■ 
and  what  was  tliat  I  heard  on  the  i)iano  as  I  entered  the  apart- 
ment? Mrs.  Brandon  sat  there  hemming  some  chintz  window- 
curtains,  or  bed-curtains,  or  what  not :  by  her  side  sat  my  own 
eldest  girl  stitching  away  very  resolutely ;  and  at  the  piano — tlie 
piano  which  Philip  had  bought — there  sat  my  own  wife  picking 
out  that  "  Dream  of  Saint  Jerome,"  of  Beethoven,  which  Charlotte 
used  to  play  so  delicately.  We  had  tea  out  of  Philip's  tea-things, 
and  a  nice  hot  cake,  which  consoled  some  of  us.  But  I  have 
known  few  evenings  more  melancholy  than  that.  It  felt  like  the 
first  night  at  school  after  the  holidays,  when  we  all  used  to  try 
and  appear  cheerful,  you  know.  But  ah  !  how  dismal  the  gaiety 
was ;  and  how  dreary  that  lying  awake  in  the  night,  and  thinking 
of  the  happy  days  just  over  ! 

Tiie  way  in  which  we  looked  forward  for  letters  from  our  bride 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      505 

and  bridegroom  was  (jiiite  a  curiosity.  At  length  a  letter  arrived 
from  these  personages  :  and  as  it  contains  no  secret,  I  take  the 
liberty  to  print  it  in  extenso. 

Amiens  :  Friday.     Paris  :  Saturdatj. 

"  Dearest  Friends, — (For  the  dearest  friends  you  are  to  us, 
and  will  continue  to  be  as  long  as  ive  live), — We  perform  our 
promise  of  writing  to  you  to  say  that  we  are  well,  and  safe,  and 
happy !  Philip  says  I  mustn't  use  dashes,  but  I  can't  helji  it. 
He  says,  he  supposes  I  am  dashing  off  a  letter.  You  know  his 
joking  way.  Oh,  what  a  blessing  it  is  to  see  him  so  happy.  And 
if  he  is  happy,  I  am.  I  tremble  to  think  how  happy.  He  sits 
ojjposite  me,  smoking  his  cigar,  looking  so  noble  !  /  like  it,  and  I 
went  to  our  room  and  brought  him  this  one.  He  says,  '  Char,  if 
I  were  to  say  bring  me  your  head,  you  would  order  a  waiter  to  cut 
it  off.'  Pray,  did  I  not  promise  three  days  ago  to  love,  honour, 
and  obey  him,  and  am  I  going  to  break  my  promise  already  ?  I 
hope  not.  I  pray  not.  All  my  life  I  hope  I  shall  be  trying  to 
keep  that  promise  of  mine.  We  like  Canterbury  almost  as  much 
as  dear  Westminster.  We  had  an  open  carriage  and  took  a 
glorious  drive  to  Folkestone,  and  in  the  crossing  Philip  was  ill,  and 
I  wasn't.  And  he  looked  very  droll ;  and  he  was  in  a  dreadful  bad 
humour ;  and  that  was  my  first  appearance  as  nurse.  I  think  I 
sliould  like  him  to  be  a  little  ill  sometimes,  so  that  I  may  sit  up  and 
take  care  of  him.  We  went  through  the  cords  at  the  custom- 
house at  Boulogne ;  and  I  remembered  liow,  two  years  ago,  I  passed 
through  those  very  cords  with  my  poor  papa,  and  he  stood  outside, 
and  saw  us  !  We  went  to  the  '  Hotel  des  Bains.'  We  walked 
about  the  town.  We  went  to  the  Tintelleries,  where  we  used  to 
live,  and  to  your  house  in  the  Haute  Ville,  where  I  remember 
everything  as  if  it  was  yesterday.  Don't  you  remember,  as  we 
were  walking  one  day,  you  said,  '  Charlotte,  there  is  the  steamer 
coming;  there  is  the  smoke  of  his  funnel;'  and  I  said,  'What 
steamer  1 '  and  you  said,  '  The  Philip,  to  be  sure.'  And  he  came  u]i, 
smoking  his  pipe  !  We  passed  over  and  over  the  old  ground  where 
we  used  to  walk.  We  went  to  the  pier,  and  gave  money  to  the 
poor  little  hunchback  who  plays  the  guitar,  and  he  said,  '■  Merci, 
madame.^  How  droll  it  sounded  !  And  that  good  kind  Marie  at 
the  'Hotel  des  Bains'  remembered  us,  and  called  us  ^  vies  eyifansJ' 
And  if  you  were  not  the  most  good-natured  woman  in  the  world, 
I  think  I  should  be  asliamed  to  write  such  nonsense. 

"  Think  of  Mrs  Brandon  having  knitted  me  a  purse,  which  she 
gave  me  as  wc  went  away  from  dear  dear  Queen  Square ;  and 
when  I  opened  it,  there  were  five  sovereigns  in  it !     When  we  found 


506  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

what  the  purse  contained,  Philip  used  one  of  his  great  jurons  (as  he 
always  does  when  he  is  most  tender-hearted),  and  he  said  that 
Avoman  was  an  angel,  and  that  we  would  keep  those  five  sovereigns, 
and  never  change  them.  Ah  !  I  am  thankful  my  husband  has  such 
friends  !  I  will  love  all  who  love  him — you  most  of  all.  For  were 
not  you  the  means  of  bringing  this  noble  heart  to  me  1  I  fancy  I 
have  known  bigger  people,  since  I  have  known  you,  and  some  of 
your  friends.  Their  talk  is  simpler,  their  thoughts  are  greater  than 
— those  with  whom  I  used  to  live.  P.  says,  Heaven  has  given  Mrs. 
Brandon  such  a  great  heart,  tliat  she  must  have  a  good  intellect.  If 
loving  my  Philip  be  wisdom,  I  know  some  one  who  will  be  very 
wise ! 

"  If  I  was  not  in  a  very  great  hurry  to  see  mamma,  Philip  said 
we  might  stop  a  day  at  Amiens.  And  we  went  to  the  Cathedral, 
and  to  whom  do  you  think  it  is  dedicated?  To  my  saint :  to  Saint 
FiRMiN  !  And  oh  !  I  prayed  to  Heaven  to  give  me  strength  to 
devote  my  life  to  my  saint's  service,  to  love  him  always,  as  a  pure 
true  wife :  in  sickness  to  guard  him,  in  sorrow  to  soothe  him.  I 
will  try  and  learn  and  study,  not  to  make  my  intellect  equal  to 
his — very  few  women  can  hope  for  that — but  that  I  may  better 
comprehend  him,  and  give  him  a  companion  more  worthy  of  him. 
I  wonder  whether  there  are  many  men  in  the  world  as  clever  as  our 
husbands'?  Though  Philip  is  so  modest.  He  says  he  is  not  clever 
at  all.  Yet  I  know  he  is,  and  grander  somehow  than  other  men. 
I  said  nothing,  but  I  used  to  listen  at  Queen  Square ;  and  some 
who  came  who  thought  best  of  themselves,  seemed  to  me  jiert,  and 
worldly,  and  small ;  and  some  were  like  princes  somehow.  My 
Philip  is  one  of  the  princes.  Ah,  dear  friend  !  may  I  not  give 
thanks  where  thanks  are  due,  that  I  am  chosen  to  be  the  wife  of 
a  true  gentleman  ?  Kind,  and  brave,  and  loyal  Philip  !  Honest 
and  generous, — above  deceit  or  selfish  scheme.  Oh  !  I  hope  it  is 
not  wrong  to  be  so  happy  ! 

"  We  wrote  to  mamma  and  dear  Madame  Smolensk  to  say  we 
were  coming.  Mamma  finds  Madame  de  Valentinois's  boarding- 
house  even  dearer  than  dear  Madame  Smolensk's.  I  donH  mean  a 
pun  !  She  says  she  has  found  out  that  Madame  de  Valentinois's  real 
name  is  Cornichon ;  that  she  was  a  person  of  the  worst  character, 
and  that  cheating  at  ecarte  was  practised  at  her  house.  She  took 
up  her  own  two  francs  and  anotlier  two-franc  piece  from  the  card- 
table,  saying  that  Colonel  Boidotte  was  cheating,  and  by  i-ights  the 
money  was  hers.  She  is  going  to  leave  Madame  de  Valentinois  at 
the  end  of  her  month,  or  as  soon  as  her  children,  who  have  the 
measles,  can  move.  She  desired  that  on  no  account  I  would  come 
to  see  her  at  Madame  V.'s  ;  and  she  brought  Philip  £12,  10s.  in 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      507 

five-fraiif  pieces,  which  she  laid  down  on  the  table  before  him,  and 
said  it  was  my  first  quarter's  i)ayment.  It  is  not  due  yet,  I  knoAv. 
'But  do  you  think  I  will  he  beholden,'  says  she,  'to  a  man  like 
you  1 '  And  P.  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  put  the  rouleau  of 
silver  pieces  into  a  drawer.  He  did  not  say  a  word,  but,  of  course, 
I  saw  he  was  ill-pleased.  '  What  shall  we  do  with  your  fortune. 
Char  1 '  he  said,  Avhen  mamma  went  away.  And  a  part  we  spent 
at  the  opera  and  at  Vary's  restaurant,  where  we  took  our  dear  kind 
Madame  Smolensk.  Ah,  how  good  tliat  woman  was  to  me  !  Ah, 
how  I  suffered  in  that  house  when  mamma  wanted  to  part  me  from 
Philip  !  We  walked  by  and  saw  the  windows  of  the  room  where 
that  horrible  horrible  tragedy  was  performed,  and  Philip  shook  his 
fist  at  the  green  jalousies.  '  Good  heavens  ! '  he  said  :  '  how,  my 
darling,  how  I  was  made  to  suffer  there  ! '  I  bear  no  malice.  I 
will  do  no  injury.  But  I  can  never  forgive  :  never  !  I  can  forgive 
mamma,  who  made  my  husband  so  unhappy ;  but  can  I  love  her 
again  ?  Indeed  and  indeed  I  have  tried.  Often  and  often  in  my 
dreams  that  horrid  tragedy  is  acted  over  again  ;  and  they  are  taking 
him  from  me,  and  I  feel  as  if  I  should  die.  When  I  was  with  you 
I  used  often  to  be  afraid  to  go  to  sleep  for  fear  of  that  dreadful 
dream,  and  I  kept  one  of  his  letters  under  my  pillow  so  that  I 
might  hold  it  in  the  night.  And  now !  No  one  can  part  us ! — 
oh,  no  one  ! — until  the  end  comes  ! 

"He  took  me  about  to  all  his  old  bachelor  haunts;  to  the 
'  Hotel  Poussin,'  where  he  used  to  live,  which  is  very  dingy  but 
comfortable.  And  he  introduced  me  to  the  landlady,  in  a  Madras 
handkerchief,  and  to  the  landlord  (in  earrings  and  with  no  coat  on), 
and  to  the  little  boy  who  frottes  tlie  floors.  And  he  said,  '  Tiens  ' 
and  '  Merci,  rnadame  !  '  as  we  gave  him  a  five-franc  piece  out  of  my 
fortune.  And  then  we  went  to  the  cafd  opposite  the  Bourse,  where 
Philip  used  to  write  his  letters  ;  and  then  we  went  to  the  Palais 
Royal,  where  Madame  de  Smolensk  was  in  waiting  for  us.  And 
then  we  went  to  the  play.  And  then  we  went  to  Tortoni's  to  take 
ices.  And  then  we  walked  a  2)art  of  the  way  home  with  Madame 
Smolensk  under  a  hundred  million  blazing  stars  ;  and  then  we 
walked  down  the  Champs  Elys^cs  avenues,  by  which  Philip  used 
to  come  to  me,  and  beside  the  i)las]iing  fountains  shining  under  the 
silver  moon.  And,  oh,  Laura  !  I  wonder  under  the  silver  moon  was 
anybody  so  happy  as  your  loving  and  gratefid  C.  F. 

''P.S:'  [In  the  handwriting  of  Philip  Firmin,  Es(i.]— "  My 
DKAR  Friends, — I'm  so  jolly  that  it  seems  like  a  dream.  I  have 
been  watc^liing  Charlotte  scril)l)le  scribble  fui'  an  hour  past;  and 
wondered  and  thought  is  it  actually  true?  and  gone  and  convinced 


508  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

myself  of  the  trutli  by  looking  at  the  paper  and  the  dashes  which 
she  will  put  under  the  words.  My  dear  friends,  what  have  I  done 
in  life  that  I  am  to  be  made  a  present  of  a  little  angel  ]  Once  there 
was  so  much  wrong  in  me,  and  my  heart  was  so  black  and  revenge- 
ful, that  I  knew  not  what  might  happen  to  me.  She  came  and 
rescued  me.  The  love  of  this  creature  purifies  me — and — and  I 
think  that  is  all.  I  think  I  only  want  to  say  that  I  am  the 
happiest  man  in  Europe.  That  Saint  Firmin  at  Amiens  !  Didn't 
it  seem  like  a  good  omen  1  By  St.  George  !  I  never  heard  of  St.  F. 
until  I  lighted  on  him  in  the  Cathedral.  Wlien  shall  we  write 
next  ]  Where  shall  we  tell  you  to  direct  1  We  don't  know  where 
we  are  going.  We  don't  want  letters.  But  we  are  not  the  less 
grateful  to  dear  kind  friends  ;  and  our  names  are 

"  P.  AND  0.  F.  " 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

DESCRIBES  A  SITUATION  INTERESTING  BUT  NOT  UNEXPECTED 

ONLY  very  ■wilful  and  silly  children  cry  after  the  moon. 
Sensible  peoi)le  who  have  shed  their  sweet  tooth  can't  be 
expected  to  be  very  much  interested  about  honey.  We 
may  hojje  ]\Ir.  and  Mrs.  Pliilip  Firmin  enjoyed  a  jileasant  wedding 
tour  and  that  sort  of  thing :  but  as  for  chronicling  its  delights 
or  adventures,  Miss  Sowerby  and  I  vote  that  the  task  is  alto- 
gether needless  and  immoral.  Young  people  are  already  much 
too  sentimental,  and  inclined  to  idle  maudlin  reading.  Life  is 
earnest,  ]\Iiss  Sowerby  remarks  (with  a  strong  inclination  to  spell 
"earnest"  with  a  large  E).  Life  is  labour.  Life  is  duty.  Life  is 
rent.  Life  is  taxes.  Life  brings  its  ills,  bills,  doctor's  pills.  Life 
is  not  a  mere  calendar  of  honey  and  moonshine.  Very  good.  But; 
without  love.  Miss  Sowerby,  life  is  just  death,  and  I  know,  my 
dear,  you  would  no  more  care  to  go  on  with  it,  than  with  a  new 
chapter  of — of  our  dear  friend  Boreliam's  new  story. 

Between  ourselves,  Philip's  humour  is  not  much  more  lightsome 
than  that  of  the  ingenious  contemporary  above  named ;  but  if  it 
served  to  amuse  Philip  himself,  why  baulk  him  of  a  little  sport  1 
Well,  then  :  he  wrote  us  a  great  ream  of  lumbering  pleasantries, 
dated  Paris,  Thursday ;  Geneva,  Saturday.  Summit  of  Mont 
Blanc,  Monday;  Timbuctoo,  Wednesday,  Pekin,  Friday — with 
facetious  descriptions  of  those  spots  and  cities.  He  said  that 
in  the  last-named  place  Charlotte's  shoes  being  worn  out,  those 
which  she  purchased  were  rather  tight  for  her,  and  tlie  high  heels 
annoyed  her.  He  stated  that  the  beef  at  Timbuctoo  was  not 
cooked  enough  for  Charlotte's  taste,  and  that  the  Emjjeror's 
attentions  were  becoming  rather  marked,  and  so  fortli ;  wiiereas 
poor  little  Cliar's  sim^de  ])()sts<'ripts  mentioned  no  travelling  at  all ; 
but  averred  that  they  were  staying  at  Saint  Germain,  and  as  iiappy 
as  the  day  was  long.  As  happy  as  the  day  was  long?  As  it  was 
short,  alas  !  Their  little  ])urse  was  very  slenderly  luniished ;  and 
in  a  very  very  brief  holiday,  i)oor  Philip's  few  najioleons  had  almost 
all  rolled  away.  Luckily,  it  was  ])My-<lay  when  the  young  people 
came  back  to  London.      They  weic  almost  reduced  to  the  Little 


510  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Sister's  wedding  present :  and  surely  they  would  rather  work  than 
purchase  a  few  hours'  more  ease  with  that  poor  widow's  mite. 

Who  talked  and  was  afraid  of  poverty  ?  Philip,  with  his  two 
newspapers,  averred  that  he  Imd  enougli ;  more  than  enough ;  could 
save ;  could  put  by.  It  was  at  this  time  that  Ridley,  the  Acade- 
mician, painted  that  sweet  picture,  No.  1976 — of  course  you  re- 
member it — "Portrait  of  a  Lady."  He  became  romantically 
attached  to  the  second-floor  lodger ;  would  have  no  noisy  parties 
in  his  rooms,  or  smoking,  lest  it  should  annoy  her.  Would  Mrs. 
Firmin  desire  to  give  entertainments  of  her  own  1  His  studio  and 
sitting-room  were  at  her  orders.  He  fetched  and  carried.  He 
brought  presents,  and  theatre-boxes.  He  was  her  slave  of  slaves. 
And  she  gave  him  back  in  return  for  all  this  romantic  adoration  a 
condescending  shake  of  a  soft  little  hand,  and  a  kind  look  from  a 
pair  of  soft  eyes,  with  which  the  painter  was  fain  to  be  content. 
Low  of  stature,  and  of  misshapen  form,  J.  J.  thought  himself  natu- 
rally outcast  from  marriage  and  love,  and  looked  in  with  longing 
eyes  at  the  paradise  which  he  was  forbidden  to  enter.  And  Mr. 
Philip  sat  within  this  Palace  of  Delight ;  and  lolled  at  his  ease, 
and  took  his  pleasure,  and  Charlotte  ministered  to  him.  And  once 
in  a  way,  my  lord  sent  out  a  crumb  of  kindness,  or  a  little  cup  of 
comfort,  to  the  outcast  at  the  gate  who  blessed  his  benefactress, 
and  my  lortl  his  benefactor,  and  was  thankful.  Charlotte  had  not 
twopence :  but  she  had  a  little  court.  It  was  the  fasliion  for 
Philip's  friends  to  come  and  bow  before  her.  Very  fine  gentlemen 
who  had  known  him  at  college,  and  forgot  him,  or,  sooth  to  say, 
thought  him  rough  and  overbearing,  now  suddenly  remembered  him 
and  his  young  wife  had  quite  fashionable  assemblies  at  her  five 
o'clock  tea-table.  All  men  liked  her,  and  Miss  Sowerby  of  course 
says  Mrs.  Firmin  was  a  good-natured,  quite  harmless  little  woman, 
rather  pretty,  and — you  know,  my  dear — such  as  men  like.  Look 
you,  if  I  like  cold  veal,  dear  Sowerby,  it  is  that  my  tastes  are 
simple.  A  fine  tough  old  dry  camel,  no  doubt,  is  a  much  nobler 
and  more  sagacious  animal — and  perluips  you  think  a  double  hump 
is  quite  a  delicacy. 

Yes  :  Mrs.  Philip  was  a  success.  She  had  scarce  any  female 
friends  as  yet,  being  too  poor  to  go  into  the  world  :  but  she  had 
Mrs.  Pendennis,  and  dear  little  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  Mrs.  Mugford, 
whose  celebrated  trap  repeatedly  brought  delicacies  for  the  bride 
from  Hampstead,  whose  chaise  was  once  or  twice  a  week  at  Philip's 
door,  and  who  was  very  much  exercised  and  impressed  by  the  fine 
company  whom  she  met  in  Mrs.  Firmin's  apartments.  "  Lord 
Thingambury's  card  !  what  next,  Brandon,  upon  my  w^ord  1  Lady 
Slowby  at  home  1  well,  I  never,  Mrs.  B.  !  "     In  such  artless  phrases 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     511 

Mrs.  Mugford  would  express  her  admiration  and  astonishment 
during  the  early  time,  and  when  Charlotte  still  retained  the  good 
lady's  favour.  That  a  state  of  things  far  less  agreeable  ensued,  I 
must  own.  But  though  there  is  ever  so  small  a  cloud  in  the  sky 
even  now,  let  us  not  heed  it  for  a  while,  and  bask  and  be  content 
and  happy  in  the  sunshine.  '■Oh,  Laura,  I  tremble  when  I  think 
liow  happy  I  am  !  "  was  our  little  bird's  perpetual  warble.  "  How 
did  I  live  when  I  was  at  home  with  mamma  1 "  she  would  say. 
"  Do  you  know  that  Philip  never  even  scolds  me  ?  If  he  were  to 
say  a  rough  word  I  think  I  should  die  ;  wliercas  mamma  was  bark- 
ing barking  from  morning  till  night,  and  I  didn't  care  a  pin."  Tliis 
is  what  comes  of  injudicious  scolding,  as  of  any  other  drug.  The 
wholesome  medicine  loses  its  effect.  The  inured  patient  calmly 
takes  a  dose  that  would  frighten  or  kill  a  stranger.  Poor  Mrs. 
Baynes's  crossed  letters  came^still,  and  I  am  not  prepared  to  pledge 
my  word  that  Charlotte  read  them  all.  Mrs.  B.  offered  to  come 
and  superintend  and  take  care  of  dear  Philip  when  an  interesting 
event  should  take  place.  But  Mrs.  Brandon  was  already  engaged 
for  this  important  occasion,  and  Charlotte  became  so  alarmed  lest 
her  mother  should  invade  her,  that  Philip  wrote  curtly,  and  posi- 
tively forbade  Mrs.  Baynes.  You  remember  the  picture  "  A 
Cradle,"  by  J.  J.  1  the  two  little  rosy  feet  brought  I  don't  know 
how  many  hundred  guineas  apiece  to  Mr.  Ridley.  The  mother  her- 
self did  not  study  babydom  more  fondly  and  ilevotedly  than  Ridley 
did  in  the  ways,  looks,  features.,  anatomies,  attitudes,  baby-clothes, 
&c.,  of  this  first-born  infant  of  Charlotte  and  Philip  Firmin.  My 
wife  is  very  angry  because  I  have  forgotten  whether  the  first  of  tlie 
young  Firmin  brood  was  a  boy  or  a  girl,  and  says  I  shall  forget  the 
names  of  my  own  children  next.  Well?  "At  this  distance  of 
time,  I  think  it  was  a  boy, — for  their  boy  is  very  tall,  you  know — 

a  great  deal  taller iVot  a  boy  1     Then,  between  ourselves,  I 

have  no  doubt  it  was  a "     "  A  goose,"  says  the  lady,  which  is 

not  even  reasonal)lc. 

This  is  certain  :  we  all  thouglit  tiie  young  motlier  looked  very 
pretty,  with  her  pink  clieeks  and  beaming  eyes,  as  she  bent  over 
the  little  infant.  J.  J.  says  he  tliinks  tliere  is  something  heavenh/ 
in  the  looks  of  young  mothers  at  tliat  time.  Nay,  lie  goes  so  far  as 
to  declare  that  a  tigi'css  at  the  Zoologii-al  Gardens  looks  beautiful 
and  gentle  as  she  bends  her  black  nozzle  over  her  cubs.  And  if  a 
tigress,  why  not  Mrs.  Philip  1  O  ye  powers  of  sentiment,  in  what 
a  state  J.  J.  was  about  this  young  woman  !  There  is  a  brightness 
in  a  young  mother's  eye :  there  are  pearl  and  rose  tints  on  her 
cheek,  Avhich  are  sure  to  fascinate  a  ])ainter.  Tliis  artist  used  to 
hang  about  Mrs.  Brandon's  rooms,  till  it  was  droll  to  see  him.     I 


512  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

believe  he  took  off  his  shoes  in  his  own  studio,  so  as  not  to  disturb 
by  his  creaking  the  lady  overhead.  .  He  purchased  the  most  pre- 
posterous mug,  and  other  presents  for  the  infant.  Philip  went  out 
to  his  club  or  his  newspaper  as  he  was  ordered  to  do.  But  Mr.  J.  J. 
could  not  be  got  away  from  Thornhaugh  Street,  so  that  little  Mrs. 
Brandon  laughed  at  him — absolutely  laughed  at  him. 

During  all  this  -while  Philip  and  his  wife  continued  in  the  very 
greatest  ftivour  witli  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  and  were  invited  by 
that  worthy  couple  to  go  with  their  infant  to  Mugford's  villa  at 
Hampstead,  where  a  change  of  air  might  do  good  to  dear  baby  and 
dear  mamma.     Philip  w^ent  to   this   village   retreat.     Streets  and 
terraces   now   cover    over   the  house   and   grounds  which  w^orthy 
Mugford  inhabited,   and  which    people    say  he    used    to    call   his 
Russian  Irby.     He  had  amassed  in  a  small  space  a  heap  of  country 
pleasures.       He   had  a   little  garden;  a    little    paddock;  a   little 
greenhouse ;  a  little  cucumber-frame  ;  a  little  stable  for  his  little 
trap;  a  little  Guernsey  cow;  a  little  dairy;  a  little  pigsty;  and 
with  this  little  treasure  the  good  man  was  not  a  little  content. 
He  loved  and  praised  everything  that  was  his.     No  man  admired 
his  own  port  more  than  Mugford,  or  paid  more  compHments  to  his 
own  butter  and  home-baked  bread.     He  enjoyed  his  own  happiness. 
He  appreciated  his  own  worth.     He  loved  to  talk  of  the  days  when 
he  was  a  poor  boy  on  London  streets,  and  now — "now  try  that 
glass  of  port,  my  boy,  and  say  whether  the  Lord  Mayor  has  got 
any  better,"  he  would  say,  winking  at  his  glass  and  his  company. 
To  be  virtuous,  to  be  lucky,  and  constantly  to  think  and  own  that 
you  are  so — is  not  this  true  happiness  1     To  sing  hymns  in  praise 
of  himself  is  a  charming  amusement — at  least  to  the  performer; 
and  anybody  who  dined  at  Mugford's  table  was  pretty  sure  to  hear 
some  of  this  music  after  dinner.     I  am  sorry  to  say  Philip  did  not 
care  for  this  trumpet-blowing.     He  was  frightfully  bored  at  Haver- 
stock  Hill ;  and  when  bored,  Mr.  Philip  is  not  altogether  an  agree- 
able companion.     He  will  yawn  in  a  man's  face.     He  will  contradict 
you  freely.     He  will  say  the  mutton  is  tough,  or  the  wine  not  fit 
to  drink ;  that  such  and  such  an  orator  is  overrated,  and  such  and 
sucli  a  politician  is  a  fool.     Mugford   and   his  guest  had  battles 
after  dinner,  had  actually  high  words.     "  What-hever  is  it,  Mugford  1 
and  what  were  you  quarrelling  about  in   the  dining-room?"   asks 
Mrs.  Mugford.      "Quarrelling?     It's  only  the  sub-editor  snoring," 
said   the  gentleman,   with   a  Hushed  face.      "My  wine  ain't  good 
enough  for  him  ;  and  now  my  gentleman  must  put  his  boots  upon 
a  chair  and  go  to  sleep  under  my  nose.     He  is  a  cool  liand,  and  no 
mistake,  Mrs.  M."     At  this  juncture  poor  little  Char  would  gently 
glide  down  from  a  visit  to  her  baby :  and  would  i)lay  something  on 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     513 

the  piano,  and  soothe  the  rising  anger ;  and  then  Philij:)  would  come 
in  from  a  little  walk  in  the  shrubberies,  where  he  had  been  blowing 
a  little  cloud.  Ah  !  there  was  a  little  cloud  rising  indeed  : — quite 
a  little  one — nay,  not  so  little.  When  you  consider  that  Philip's 
bread  depended  on  the  goodwill  of  these  pe(jple,  you  will  allow 
that  his  friends  might  be  anxious  regarding  the  future.  A  word 
from  Mugford,  and  Philij)  and  Charlotte  and  the  child  were 
adrift  on  the  world.  And  these  points  Mr.  Firmin  would  freely 
admit,  while  he  stood  discoursing  of  his  own  affairs  (as  he  loved 
to  do),  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  and  his  back  warming  at  our 
fire. 

"My  dear  fellow,"  says  the  candid  bridegroom,  "these  things 
are  constantly  in  my  head.  I  used  to  talk  about  'em  to  Char,  but 
I  don't  now.  They  disturb  her,  the  poor  thing ;  and  she  clutches 
liold  of  the  baby  ;  and — and  it  tears  my  heart  out  to  think  that 
any  grief  should  come  to  her.  I  try  and  do  my  best,  my  good 
people — but  when  I'm  bored  I  can't  help  showing  I'm  bored,  don't 
you  see  1  I  can't  be  a  hypocrite.  No,  not  for  two  hundred  a  year, 
or  for  twenty  thousand.  You  can't  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  that 
sow's-ear  of  a  Mugford.  A  very  good  man.  I  don't  say  no.  A 
good  father,  a  good  husband,  a  generous  host,  and  a  most  tremendous 
bore,  and  cad.  Be  agreeable  to  him  1  How  can  I  be  agreeable 
when  I  am  beinr'  killed  1  He  has  a  story  about  Leigh  Hunt  being 
put  into  Newgate,  where  Mugford,  bringing  him  ])roofs,  saw  Lord 
Bynm.  I  cannot  keep  awake  during  that  story  any  longer ;  or,  if 
awake,  I  grind  my  teeth,  and  swear  inwardly,  so  that  I  know  I'm 
dreadful  to  hear  and  see.  AVell,  Mugford  has  yellow  satin  sofas  in 
the  '  droaring-room  ' " 

"  Oh,  Philip  ! "  says  a  lady ;  and  two  or  three  circumjacent 
children  set  up  an  insane  giggle,  which  is  speedily  and  sternly 
silenced. 

"I  toll  yi)u  she  culls  it  'droaring-room.'  You  know  she  does, 
as  well  as  T  iio.  She  is  a  good  woman:  a  kiml  woman  :  a  liot- 
teini)ered  woman.  I  hear  her  scolding  the  servants  in  the  kitchen 
with  immense  vehemence,  and  at  ])rodigious  length.  Biit  liow  can 
Cliar  frankly  be  the  friend  of  a  woman  who  calls  a  drawing-room  a 
droaring-room  1  Witli  our  dear  little  friend  in  Thornhaugh  Street, 
it  is  different.  She  makes  no  pretence  even  at  oiiuality.  Here  is 
a  i)atron  and  i)ati-oness,  don't  you  see'?  When  Mugford  walks  me 
round  his  paddock  and  gardens,  and  says,  'Look  year,  Firmin  :'  or 
scratches  one  of  his  pigs  on  the  back,  and  says,  'We'll  'ave  ;'.  cut  of 
this  fellow  on  Saturday'" — (explosive  attemj)ts  at  insubordination 
and  derision  on  the  ])art  of  the  children  again  are  severely  checked 
by  the  parental  autliorities) — "  '  we'll  'ave  a  cut  of  tiiis  fellow  on 
11  2  k 


514 


TPIR    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 


Saturday,'  I  feel  inclined  to  throw  him  or  myself  into  the  trough 
over  the  palings.  Do  you  know  that  that  man  put  that  hand  into 
his  pocket  and  offered  me  some  filberts  1 " 

Here  I  own  the  lady  to  whom  Philip  was  addressing  himself 
turned  pale  and  shuddered. 

"I  can  no  more  be  that  man's  friend  que  celui.  du  domestique 
qui  vient  d'apporter  le  what-d'you-call-'em  1  le  coal-scuttle  "—(John 
entered  the  room  with  that  useful  article  during  Philip's  oration — 
and  we  allowed  the  elder  children  to  laugh  this  time,  for  the  fact  is, 
none  of  us  knew  the  French  for  coal-scuttle,  and  I  will  wager  there 
is  no  such  word  in  Chambaud).  "  This  holding  back  is  not  arro- 
gance," Philip  went  on.  "  This  reticence  is  not  want  of  humility. 
To  serve  that  man  honestly  is  one  thing;  to  make  friends  with 
him,  to  laugh  at  his  dull  jokes,  is  to  make  friends  with  the  mammon 
of  unrighteousness,  is  subserviency  and  liypocrisy  on  my  part.  I 
ought  to  say  to  him,  Mr.  Mugford,  I  will  give  you  my  work  for 
your  wage ;  I  will  compile  your  paper,  I  will  produce  an  agreeable 
miscellany  containing  proper  proportions  of  news,  politics,  and 
scandal,  put  titles  to  your  paragraphs,  see  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette 
ship-shape  through  the  press,  and  go  home  to  my  wife  and 
dinner.     You   are   my  employer,  but  you  are  not  my  friend,  and 

bless    ray    soul  !    there    is    five    o'clock    striking ! "        (Tiie 

time-piece  in  our  drawing-room  gave  that  announcement  as  he  was 
speaking.)  "We  have  what  Mugford  calls  a  white-choker  dinner 
to-day,  in  honour  of  the  pig!"  And  with  this  Philip  plunges 
out  of  the  house,  and  I  hope  reached  Hampstead  in  time  for  the 
entertainment. 

Philip's  friends  in  Westminster  felt  no  little  doubt  about  his 
prospects,  and  the  Little  Sister  shared  their  alarm.  "They  are 
not  fit  to  be  with  those  folks,"  Mrs.  Brandon  said,  "though  as 
for  Mrs.  Philip,  dear  thing,  I  am  sure  nobody  can  ever  quarrel 
with  her.  With  me  it's  diff"erent.  I  never  had  no  education,  you 
know — no  more  than  the  Mugfords,  but  I  don't  like  to  see  'my 
Philip  sittin'  down  as  if  he  was  the  guest  and  equal  of  that  fellar." 
Nor  indeed  did  it  ever  enter  "that  fellar's "  head  that  Mr. 
Frederick  Mugford  could  be  Mr.  Philip  Firmin's  equal.  With  our 
knowledge  of  the  two  men,  then,  we  all  dismally  looked  forward 
to  a  rupture  between  Firrain  and  Iiis  patron. 

As  for  the  New  York  journal,  v/e  were  more  easy  in  respect 
to  Philip's  success  in  that  quarter.  Several  of  his  friends  made 
a  vow  to  help  him.  We  clubbed  club-stories ;  we  begged  from 
our  polite  friends  anecdotes  (that  would  bear  sea-transport)  of  the 
fashionable  world.  We  happened  to  overhear  the  most  remarkable 
conversations  between  the  most  influential  public  characters  who 


Ml'GFORD  S    FAVOUKITE. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     515 

had  no  secrets  from  iis.  We  had  astuuishing  intelligence  at  most 
European  courts  ;  exclusive  re])orts  of  the  Emperor  of  Russia's  last 
joke — his  last  ?  his  next,  very  likely.  We  knew  the  most  secret 
designs  of  the  Austrian  Privy  Council ;  the  views  which  the  Pope 
had  in  his  eye  ;  who  was  the  latest  favourite  of  the  Grand  Turk, 
and  so  on.  The  Upper  Ten  Thousand  at  New  York  were  supplied 
with  a  quantity  of  information  which  I  trust  profited  them.  It 
was  "  Palmerston  remarked  yesterday  at  dinner,"  or,  "  The  good 
old  Duke  said  last  night  at  Apsley  House  to  the  French  Ambas- 
sador," and  the  rest.  The  letters  were  signed  "  Pliilalethes ; " 
and,  as  nobody  Avas  wounded  l)y  the  shafts  of  our  long-bow,  I  trust 
Mr.  Philip  and  his  friends  may  be  pardoned  for  twanging  it.  By 
information  ])rocured  from  learned  female  personages,  we  even 
managed  to  give  accounts,  more  or  less  correct,  of  the  latest  ladies' 
iashions.  We  were  members  of  all  the  clubs  ;  we  were  present 
at  the  routs  and  assemblies  of  the  political  leaders  of  both  sides. 
We  had  little  doubt  that  Philalethes  would  be  successful  at  New 
York,  and  looked  forward  to  an  increased  payment  lor  his  labours. 
At  the  end  of  the  first  year  of  Philip  Firmin's  married  life,  we 
made  a  calculation  by  which  it  was  clear  that  he  had  actually  saved 
money.  His  expenses,  to  be  sure,  were  increased.  There  was  a 
baby  in  the  nursery  :  but  there  was  a  little  bag  of  sovereigns  in 
the  cupboard,  and  the  thrifty  young  fellow  hoped  to  add  still 
more  to  his  store. 

We  were  relieved  at  finding  that  Firmin  and  his  wife  were  not 
invited  to  repeat  their  visit  to  tlieir  employer's  house  at  Hani])- 
stead.  An  occasional  invitation  to  dinner  was  still  sent  to  the 
young  people  ;  but  Mugford,  a  haughty  man  in  his  way,  with  a 
proper  spirit  of  his  own,  luul  tlie  good  sense  to  see  that  much 
intimacy  could  not  arise  betAveen  him  and  his  sub-editor,  and 
magnanimously  declined  to  be  angry  at  the. young  fellow's  easy 
superciliousness.  I  think  that  indefatigable  Little  Sister  was 
the  peacemaker  between  the  houses  of  Mugford  and  Firmin 
junior,  and  that  she  kept  both  Philiji  and  his  master  on  their 
good  behaviour.  At  all  events,  and  when  a  quarrel  did  aiisc 
])etween  tlieni,  I  grieve  to  have  to  own  it  was  poor  Philip  wlio 
was  in  tlie  wrong. 

You  knoAV  in  the  old  old  days  the  young  king  and  queen  never 
gave  any  christening  entertainment  witliout  neglecting  to  invite 
some  old  fairy,  who  was  furious  at  the  omission.  I  am  sorry  to 
say  Charlotte's  motlier  was  so  angry  at  not  being  ajjpointed  god- 
uiother  to  the  new  baby,  that  she  omitted  to  make  lier  little 
t|\iarterly  payment  of  ,£12,  10s. ;  and  has  altogether  discontinued  that 
l)ayment  from  tluit  remote  period  up  to  the  present  time;  so  that 


516  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Philip  says  his  wife  has  brought  him  a  fortune  of  ,£35,  paid  in 
three  instahneuts.  There  was  the  first  quarter  paid  when  the  old 
lady  "  would  not  be  beholden  to  a  man  like  him."     Tlien  there 

came  a  second  quarter — and  then but  I  dares-iy  I  shall  be  able 

to  tell  when  and  how  Philip's  manuna-in-law  paid  the  rest  of  her 
poor  little  daughter's  fortune. 

Well,  Regent's  Park  is  a  fine  healthy  place  for  infantine  diver- 
sion, and  I  don't  think  Philip  at  all  demeaned  himself  in  walking 
there  with  his  wife,  her  little  maid,  and  his  baby  on  his  arm. 
"  He  is  as  rude  as  a  bear,  and  his  manners  are  dreadful ;  but  he 
has  a  good  heart,  that  I  will  say  for  him,"  Mugford  said  to  me. 
In  his  drive  from  London  to  Hampstead  Mugford  once  or  twice 
met  the  little  family  group,  of  which  his  sub-editor  formed  the 
])rincii3al  figure  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  Philip's  young  wife  and  child 
Mr.  M.  pardoned  the  young  man's  vulgarity,  and  treated  him  with 
long-suftering. 

Poor  as  he  was,  this  was  his  happiest  time,  my  friend  is  disposed 
to  think.  A  young  child,  a  young  wife,  whose  whole  life  was  a 
tender  caress  of  love  for  child  and  husband,  a  young  husband 
watching  both  : — I  recall  the  groiip,  as  we  used  often  to  see  it  in 
those  days,  and  see  a  something  sacred  in  the  homely  figures.  On 
the  wife's  bright  face  what  a  radiant  happiness  there  is,  and  what  a 
rapturous  smile  !  Over  the  sleeping  infant  and  the  happy  mother 
the  flither  looks  with  pride  and  thanks  in  his  eyes.  Happiness  and 
gratitude  fill  his  simple  heart,  and  prayer  involuntary  to  the  Giver 
of  good,  that  he  may  have  strength  to  do  his  duty  as  father,  husband  ; 
that  he  may  be  enabled  to  keep  want  and  care  from  those  dear 
innocent  beings ;  that  he  may  defend  theua,  befriend  them,  leave 
them  a  good  name.  I  am  bound  to  say  that  Philip  became  thrifty 
and  saving  for  the  sake  of  Char  and  the  child ;  that  he  came  home 
early  of  nights  ;  that  he  thought  his  child  a  wonder  ;  that  he  never 
tired  of  speaking  about  that  infant  in  our  liouse,  about  its  fatness, 
its  strength,  its  weight,  its  wonderful  early  talents  and  humour 
He  felt  himself  a  man  now  for  the  first  time,  he  said.  Life  had 
been  play  and  folly  until  now.  And  now  especially  he  regretted 
that  he  had  been  idle,  and  had  neglected  his  opportunities  as  a  lad. 
Had  he  studied  for  the  bar,  he  miglit  have  made  that  profession  now 
profitable,  and  a  source  of  honour  and  competence  to  his  family. 
Our  friend  estimated  liis  own  powers  very  humbly  ;  I  am  sure  he 
was  not  the  less  amiable  on  account  of  that  liumility.  0  fortunate 
he,  of  whom  Love  is  the  teacher,  tlie  guide  and  master,  the  reformer 
and  chastener !  Where  was  our  friend's  former  arrogance,  self- 
confidence,  and  boisterous  profusion  1  He  was  at  the  feet  of  liis 
wife  and  child.     He  was  quite  humbled  about  himself;  or  gratified 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     517 

himself  in  fondling  and  caressing  these.  Tliey  taught  him,  he 
said ;  and  as  he  thought  of  them,  his  heart  turned  in  awful  thanks 
to  the  gracious  Heaven  which  had  given  them  to  him.  As  the 
tiny  infant  hand  closes  round  his  fingers,  I  can  see  tlie  father 
bending  over  mother  and  child,  and  interpret  those  maybe  un- 
sj)oken  blessings  which  he  asks  and  bestows.  Happy  wife,  happy 
hiis])and !  However  poor  his  little  home  may  be,  it  liolds 
treasures  and  wealth  inestimable  ;  wliatever  storms  may  tlireaten 
without,  the  home  fireside  is  brightened  with  the  welcome  of  the 
dearest  eyes 


CHAPTER   XXXIV 

LV   H'HICH  I  OWN   THAT  PHILIP  TELLS  AN   UNTRUTH 

CHARLOTTE  (and  the  usual  little  procession  of  nurse,  baby, 
&c.)  ouce  made  their  appearance  at  our  house  in  Queen 
Square,  where  they  were  ever  welcomed  by  the  lady  of  the 
mansion.  The  young  woman  was  in  a  great  state  of  elation,  and 
when  we  came  to  hear  the  cause  of  her  delight,  her  friends  too 
opened  the  eyes  of  wonder.  She  actually  announced  that  Dr. 
Firmin  had  sent  over  a  bill  of  forty  pounds  (I  may  be  incorrect  as 
to  the  sum)  from  New  York.  It  had  arrived  that  moi-ning,  and  she 
had  seen  the  bill,  and  Philip  had  told  her  that  his  fatlier  had  sent 
it ;  and  was  it  not  a  comfort  to  think  that  poor  Dr.  Firmin  was 
endeavouring  to  repair  some  of  the  evil  which  he  had  done ;  and 
that  he  was  repenting,  and,  perhaps,  was  going  to  become  quite 
honest  and  good  1  This  was  indeed  an  astounding  piece  of  intelli- 
gence ;  and  the  two  women  felt  joy  at  the  thought  of  that  sinner 
repenting,  and  some  one  else  was  accused  of  cynicism,  scepticism, 
and  so  forth,  for  doubting  the  correctness  of  the  information.  "  You 
believe  in  no  one,  sir.  You  are  always  incredulous  about  good," 
&c.  &c.  &c.,  was  the  accusation  brought  against  the  reader's  very 
luunble  servant.  Well,  about  tlie  contrition  of  this  sinner  I  confess 
I  still  continued  to  have  doubts ;  and  tliought  a  present  of  forty 
pounds  to  a  son,  to  whom  he  owed  thousands,  was  no  great  proof 
(if  the  Doctor's  amendment. 

And  oh  !  how  vexed  some  people  were  when  the  real  story  came 
out  at  last !  Not  for  the  money's  sake — not  because  they  were 
wrong  in  argument,  and  I  turned  out  to  be  right.  Oh  no !  But 
because  it  was  proved  that  this  unhappy  Doctor  had  no  present 
intention  of  repenting  at  all.  This  brand  would  not  come  out  of 
the  burning,  whatever  we  might  hope,  and  the  Doctor's  supporters 
were  obliged  to  admit  as  mucli  when  they  came  to  know  the  real 
story.  "  Oh,  Philip,"  cries  Mrs.  Laura,  when  next  she  saw  Mr. 
Firmin.      "  How  pleased  I  was  to  hear  of  that  letter  !  " 

"  What  letter  ?  "  asks  the  gentleman. 

"  Tliat  letter  from  your  father  at  New  York,"  says  the  lady. 

"  Oh,"  says  the  gentleman  addressed,  with  a  red  face. 


ox    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      '>][) 

"  What  then  1     Is  it  not — is  it  not  all  true  1 "  we  ask. 

"  Poor  Charlotte  does  not  understand  about  business,"  says 
Philip;  "I  did  not  read  the  letter  to  her.  Here  it  is."  And 
he  hands  over  the  document  to  me,  and  I  have  the  liberty  to 
publish  it. 

"  New  York 

"  And  so,  my  dear  Philip,  I  may  congratulate  myself  on  having 
achieved  ancestral  honour,  and  may  add  grandfather  to  my  titles  'I 
How  quickly  this  one  has  come  !  I  feel  myself  a  young  man  still. 
171  spite  of  the  hlovs  of  misfortune — at  least  I  know  I  was  a  young 
man  but  yesterday,  when  I  may  say  with  our  dear  old  poet,  '  Non 
sine  gloria  militavi.'  Suppose  I  too  were  to  tire  of  solitary  widow- 
hood and  re-enter  the  married  state  1  There  are  one  or  two  ladies 
here  who  would  still  condescend  to  look  not  unfavourably  on  the 
retired  English  gentleman.  Without  vanity  I  may  say  it,  a  niiin 
of  birth  and  position  in  England  acquires  a  ])olish  and  refinement 
of  manner  which  dollars  cannot  purchase,  and  many  a  Wall  Street 
millionary  might  envy  ! 

"  Your  wife  has  been  pronounced  to  be  an  angel  by  a  little, 
correspondent  of  mine,  who  gives  me  much  fuller  intelligence  of 
my  family  than  my  son  condescends  to  furnish.  Mrs.  Philip  I  hear 
is  gentle ;  Mrs.  Brandon  says  she  is  beautiful, — she  is  all  good- 
humoured.  I  hope  you  have  taught  her  to  think  not  very  badly  of 
her  husband's  father  1  I  was  the  dupe  of  villains  who  lured  me  into 
their  schemes  :  who  robbed  me  of  a  life's  earnings ;  who  induced 
me  by  ihexv  false  representations  to  have  such  confidence  in  them, 
that  I  embarked  all  my  own  property,  and  yours,  my  poor  boy, 
alas  !  in  their  undertakings.  Your  Charlotte  will  take  the  liberal, 
tlie  wise,  the.yH.s-^  view  of  the  case,  and  pity  rather  than  blame  my 
misfortune.  Such  is  the  view,  I  am  happy  to  say,  generally  adojitcd 
in  this  city :  where  there  are  men  of  the  world  who  know  the  vicis- 
situdes of  a  mercantile  career,  and  can  make  allowances  for  mis- 
fortune. AVhat  made  Rome  at  iirst  great  and  prosperous?  W^ere 
its  first  colonists  all  wealthy  patricians  ?  Nothing  can  be  more 
satisfactory  than  the  disregard  shown  here  to  mere  2>ecuniarj/  dijfi- 
rulty.  At  the  same  time  to  be  a  gentleman  is  to  possess  no  trifling 
jtrivilege  in  this  society,  where  the  advantages  of  birth,  res])ectcd 
name,  and  early  education  ahvays  tell  in  the  possessor's  favour. 
Many  persons  whom  I  visit  here  have  certainly  not  these  advantages 
— and  in  the  highest  society  of  the  city  I  could  point  out  individuals 
who  have  had  pecuniary  misfortunes  like  myself,  who  liave  gallantly 
renewed  the  combat  after  their  fall,  and  are  now  fully  restored  to 
competence,  to  wealth,  and  the  respect  of  the  world  !     I  was  in  a 


520  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

house  ill  Fifth  Avenue  last  niglit.  Is  AVashin,ij;tou  White  shumied 
by  his  fellow-men  because  he  lias  been  a  bankrupt  three  times? 
Anytliing  more  elegant  or  profuse  than  his  entertainment  I  have 
not  witnessed  on  this  continent.  His  lady  had  diamonds  which  a 
duchess  might  envy.  The  most  costly  wines,  the  most  magnificent 
supper,  and  myriads  of  canvas-backed  ducks  covered  his  board. 
Dear  Charlotte,  my  friend  Captain  Colpoys  brings  you  over  three 
brace  of  these  from  your  f;xther-in-law,  who  hopes  they  will  furnish 
your  little  dinner-table.  We  eat  currant  jelly  with  them  here,  but 
I  like  an  old  English  lemon  and  cayenne  sauce  better. 

"  By  the  way,  dear  Philip,  I  trust  you  will  not  be  incon- 
venienced by  a  little  financial  operation,  which  necessity  (alas  !) 
has  compelled  me  to  perform.  Knowing  that  your  quarter  with 
the  Ujtper  Ten  Thousand  Gazette  was  now  due,  I  have  made  so 

bold  as  to  request  Colonel to  pay  it  over  to  me.     Promises 

to  pay  must  be  met  here  as  with  us-^an  obdurate  holder  of  an 
unlucky  acceptance  of  mine  (I  am  happy  to  say  there  are  very 
few  such)  would  admit  of  no  delay,  and  I  have  been  compelled 
to  appropriate  my  poor  Phili^j's  earnings.  I  have  only  put  you 
off  for  ninety  days :  with  your  credit  and  wealthy  friends  you  can 
easily  negotiate  the  hill  enclosed,  and  I  promise  yon  that  when 
presented  it  shall  be  honoured  by  my  Philip's  ever  affectionate 
father,  G.  B.  F. 

"  By  the  way,  your  Philalethes'  letters  are  not  quite  sjncy 
enough,  my  worthy  friend  the  Colonel  says.  They  are  elegant  and 
gay,  but  the  public  here  desires  to  have  mm^e  personal  news ;  a 
little  scandal  about  Queen  Elizabeth,  you  understand  1  Can't 
you  attack  somebody  1  Look  at  the  letters  and  articles  published 
by  my  respected  friend  of  the  JVeiv  York  Emerald  !  The  readers 
here  like  a  high-spiced  article :  and  I  recommend  P.  F.  to  put 
a  little  more  pepper  in  his  dishes.  What  a  comfort  to  me  it  is 
to  think,  that  I  have  procured  this  place  for  you,  and  have  been 
enabled  to  help  my  son  and  his  young  family !  G.  B.  F." 

Enclosed  in  this  letter  was  a  slip  of  paper  which  poor  Philip 
supposed  to  be  a  cheque  when  he  first  beheld  it,  but  which  turned 
out  to  be  his  papa's  promissory  note,  payable  at  New  York  four 
months  after  date.  And  this  document  was  to  represent  the  money 
which  the  elder  Firmin  had  received  in  his  son's  name  !  Philip's 
eyes  met  his  friend's  when  they  talked  about  this  matter.  Firmin 
looked  almost  as  much  ashamed  as  if  he  himself  had  done  the 
wrong. 

"Does  the  loss  of  this  money  annoy  you?"  asked  Philip's  friend. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      521 

"  The  nuunier  of  the  loss  does,"  said  poor  Philip.  "  I  don't 
care  about  the  money.  But  he  sliould  not  have  taken  this.  He 
should  not  have  taken  this.  Tliink  of  poor  Charlotte  and  tlie 
child  being  in  want  possibly  !  Oh,  frioid,  it's  hard  to  liear,  isn't 
it  1  I'm  an  honest  fellow,  ain't  I  ?  I  think  I  am.  I  pray  Heaven 
I  am.  In  any  extremity  of  poverty  could  I  have  done  this  1  Well. 
It  was  my  father  wlio  introduced  me  to  these  people.  I  supi)ose 
he  thinks  he  has  a  right  to  my  earnings :  and  if  he  is  in  want,  you 
know,  so  he  has." 

"  Had  you  not  better  write  to  the  New  York  publishers  and 
l)eg  them  henceforth  to  remit  to  you  directly  1 "  asks  Philip's 
friend. 

"  That  would  be  to  tell  them  that  he  has  disposed  of  the  money," 
groans  Pliilip.      "  I  can't  tell  them  that  my  father  is  a " 

"  No ;  but  you  can  thank  them  for  having  lianded  over  such 
a  sum  on  your  account  to  the  Doctor :  and  warn  them  tliat  you 
will  draw  on  them  from  this  country  henceforth.  They  won't  in 
this  case  pay  the  next  quarter  to  the  Doctor." 

"Suppose  he  is  in  want,  ought  I  not  to  supply  him'?"  Firmin 
said.  "  As  long  as  there  are  four  crusts  in  the  house,  the  Doctor 
ought  to  have  one.  Ought  I  to  be  angry  with  him  for  helping 
himself,  old  boy  1 "  and  he  drinks  a  glass  of  wine,  poor  fellow,  with 
a  rueful  smile.  By  the  way,  it  is  my  duty  to  mention  here,  that 
the  elder  Firmin  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  very  elegant  little 
dinner  parties  at  New  York,  where  little  dinner  jjarties  are  much 
more  costly  than  in  Europe — -"in  order,"  he  said,  "to  establish  and 
kccj)  up  his  connection  as  a  physician."  As  a  hon-vivant,  I  am 
informed,  the  Doctor  began  to  be  celebrated  in  liis  new  dwclling- 
I)lace,  where  liis  anecdotes  of  the  British  aristocracy  were  received 
with  pleasure  in  certain  circles. 

But  it  would  be  as  well  henceforth  that  Philip  should  deal 
directly  with  his  American  correspondents,  and  not  emjjloy  the 
services  of  so  very  expensive  a  broker.  To  this  suggestion  he  could 
not  but  agree.  Meanwhile, — and  let  this  be  a  warning  to  men 
never  to  deceive  their  wives  in  any  the  slightest  circumstances ;  to 
tell  them  everything  they  wish  to  know,  to  keep  nothing  hidden 
from  those  dear  and  excellent  beings — you  must  know,  ladies,  that 
wiuiu  Philip's  famous  sliip  of  dollars  arrived  from  America,  Firmin 
iiad  promised  his  wife  that  baby  sliould  have  a  dear  delightful  white 
cloak  trimmed  with  tlie  most  lovely  tajjc,  on  whicli  poor  Charlotte 
liad  often  cast  a  longing  eye  as  she  passed  by  the  milliner  and 
curiosity  shops  in  Hanway  Yard,  which,  I  own,  she  loved  to 
frequent.  Well  ;  wlicn  Philij)  told  her  that  his  father  had  sent 
home  forty  pounds,  or  what  not,  thereby  deceiving  liis  fond  Avife, 


522  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  little  lady  Avent  away  straight  to  her  darling  shop  in  the  Yard — 
(Han way  Yard  has  become  a  street  now,  but  ah!  it  is  always 
deHghtful) — Charlotte,  I  say,  went  off,  ran  off  to  Han  way  Yard, 
l)avid  with  fear  lest  the  darling  cloak  should  be  gone,  found  it — oh, 
joy  ! — still  in  Miss  Isaacson's  window  :  put  it  on  baby  straightway 
tlien  and  there ;  kissed  the  dear  infant,  and  was  delighted  with  the 
effect  of  the  garment,  which  all  the  young  ladies  at  Miss  Isaacson's 
pronounced  to  be  perfect ;  and  took  the  cloak  away  on  baby's 
shoulders,  promising  to  send  the  money,  five  pounds,  if  you  please, 
next  day.  And  in  this  cloak  baby  and  Charlotte  went  to  meet 
jjapa  when  he  came  home ;  and  I  don't  know  which  of  them, 
mamma  or  baby,  was  the  most  pleased  and  absurd  and  happy  baby 
of  the  two.  On  his  way  home  from  his  newspaper,  Mr.  Philip  had 
orders  to  pursue  a  certain  line  of  streets,  and  when  his  accustomed 
hour  for  returning  from  his  business  drew  nigh,  Mrs.  Char  Avent  down 
Thornhaugh  Street,  down  Charlotte  Street,  down  Rathbone  Place, 
with  Betsy  the  nursekin  and  baby  in  the  new  cloak.  Behold,  he 
comes  at  last — papa — striding  down  the  street.  He  sees  tlie  figures : 
he  sees  the  child,  which  laixghs,  and  holds  out  its  little  pink  hands, 
and  crows  a  recognition.  And  "  Look — look,  papa,"  cries  the 
happy  mother.  (Away  !  I  cannot  keep  up  the  mystery  about  the 
baby  any  longer,  and  though  I  had  forgotten  for  a  moment  the 
child's  sex,  remembered  it  the  instant  after,  and  that  it  was  a  girl, 
to  be  sure,  and  that  its  name  was  Laura  Caroline.)  "Look,  look, 
papa  ! "  cries  the  happy  mother.  "  She  has  got  another  little  tooth 
since  the  morning,  su(;h  a  beautiful  little  tooth — and  look  here,  sir, 
don't  you  observe  anything  1 " 

"Any  wdmt?"  asks  Philip. 

"  La  !  sir,"  says  Betsy,  giving  Laura  Caroline  a  great  toss,  so 
that  her  white  cloak  floats  in  the  air. 

"  Isn't  it  a  dear  cloak  1 "  cries  mamma ;  "  and  doesn't  baby  look 
like  an  angel  in  it  ?  I  bought  it  at  Miss  Isaacson's  to-day,  as  you 
got  your  money  from  New  York ;  and  oh,  my  dear,  it  only  cost  five 
guineas." 

"Well,  it's  a  week's  work,"  sighs  poor  Phihp ;  "and  I  think  I 
need  not  grudge  that  to  give  Charlotte  pleasure."  And  he  feels  his 
empty  pockets  rather  ruefully. 

"  God  bless  you,  Philip,"  says  my  wife,  with  her  eyes  full. 
"  They  came  here  this  morning,  Charlotte  and  the  nurse  and  the 

baby  in  the  new— the  new- "     Here   the  lady  seized  hold  of 

Philip's  hand,  and  fairly  broke  out  into  tears.  Had  she  embraced 
Mr.  Firmin  before  her  husband's  own  eyes,  I  should  not  have  been 
surprised.  Indeed  she  confessed  that  she  was  on  the  point  of  giving 
way  to  this  most  sentim.ental  outbreak. 


ON    II IS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     523 

And  now,  my  hrctliren,  see  liuw  one  crime  is  the  parent  of 
many,  and  one  act  of  duplicity  leads  to  a  -whole  career  of  deceit.  In 
the  first  place,  you  see,  Philij)  had  deceived  his  wife— with  a  pious 
desire,  it  is  true,  of  screening  his  father's  little  peculiarities — but, 
mat  caelum,  we  must  tell  no  lies.  No :  and  from  this  day  forth  I 
order  John  never  to  say  Not  at  home  to  the  greatest  bore,  dun, 
dawdle  of  my  acquaintance.  If  Philip's  father  had  not  deceived 
him,  Philip  would  not  have  deceived  his  wife ;  if  he  had  not 
deceived  his  wife,  she  would  not  have  given  five  guineas  for  that 
cloak  for  the  baby.  If  she  had  not  given  five  guineas  for  the 
cloak,  my  wife  would  never  have  entered  into  a  secret  correspon- 
dence with  IVIr.  Firmin,  which  might,  but  for  my  own  sweetness  of 
temper,  have  bred  jealousy,  mistrust,  and  the  most  awful  quairels — 
nay,  duels — between  the  heads  of  the  two  families.  Fancy  Philip's 
body  lying  stark  upon  Hampstead  Heath  with  a  bullet  through  it, 
despatched  by  the  hand  of  his  friend  !  Fancy  a  cal)  driving  up  to 
my  own  house,  and  from  it — under  the  eyes  of  the  children  at  the 

parlour-windows — their  father's  bleeding  corpse  ejected  ! Enough 

of  this  dreadful  pleasantry  !  Two  days  after  the  affair  of  the  cloak, 
I  found  a  letter  in  Philip's  handwriting  addressed  to  my  wife,  and 
thinking  that  the  note  had  reference  to  a  matter  of  dinner  then 
pending  between  our  families,  I  broke  open  the  envelope  and  read 
as  follows  : — 

"  Thornhaugh  Street  :  Thursday. 

"  My  dear  kind  Godmamma, — As  soon  as  ever  I  can  write 
and  speak,  I  will  thank  you  for  being  so  kind  to  me.  My  mamma 
says  she  is  very  jealous,  and  as  she  bought  my  cloak  she  can't 
think  of  allowing  you  to  pay  for  it.  But  she  desires  me  never 
to  forget  your  kindness  to  us,  and  though  I  don't  knoVv  anything 
about  it  now,  she  promises  to  tell  me  when  I  am  old  enough. 
Meanwhile  I  am  your  grateful  and  affectionate  little  goddaughter, 

"  L.  C.  F." 

Philip  was  persuaded  by  Ids  friends  at  home  to  send  out  the 
lequest  to  his  New  York  employers  to  pay  his  salary  hencefortii 
to  himself;  and  I  remember  a  dignified  letter  came  from  his  parent, 
in  which  the  matter  Avas  s])okeii  of  in  sorrow  rather  than  in  anger ; 
in  which  the  Doctor  pointed  out  that  this  precautionary  measure 
seemed  to  imply  a  doubt  on  Philip's  side  of  his  father's  honour ; 
and  surely,  surely,  he  was  unhappy  enough  and  unfortunate 
enough  already  without  meriting  this  mistrust  from  his  son. 
The  duty  of  a  son  to  honour  his  father  and  mother  was  feelingly 
pointed  out,  and  the  Doctor  meekly  trusted  that  Philip's  children 


524  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Avoukl  give  him  more  confidence  than  he  seemed  to  be  inclined  to 
award  to  his  unfortunate  father.  Never  mind.  He  should  bear 
no  malice.  If  Fortune  ever  smiled  on  him  again,  and  something 
told  liim  she  would,  he  would  show  Philip  that  he  could  forgive ; 
although  he  might  not  perhaps  be  able  to  forget  that  in  his  exile, 
his  solitude,  his  declining  years,  his  misfortune,  his  own  child  had 
mistrusted  him.  This  he  said  was  the  most  cruel  blow  of  all  for 
his  susceptible  heart  to  bear. 

This  letter  of  paternal  remonstrance  was  enclosed  in  one  from 
the  Doctor  to  his  old  friend  the  Little  Sister,  in  which  he  vaunted 
a  discovery  which  he  and  some  other  scientific  gentlemen  were 
engaged  in  perfecting — of  a  medicine  which  Avas  to  be  extra- 
ordinarily eflicacious  in  cases  in  which  Mrs.  Brandon  herself  was 
often  specially  and  professionally  engaged,  and  he  felt  sure  that 
the  sale  of  this  medicine  would  go  far  to  retrieve  his  shattered 
fortune.  He  pointed  out  the  complaints  in  which  this  medicine 
was  most  efficacious.  He  would  send  some  of  it,  and  details 
regarding  its  use,  to  Mrs.  Brandon,  who  might  try  its  efficacy  upon 
her  patients.  He  was  advancing  slowly,  but  steadily,  in  his  medical 
profession,  he  said ;  though,  of  course,  he  had  to  suffer  from  the 
jealousy  of  his  professional  brethren.  Never  mind.  Better  times, 
he  was  sure,  were  in  store  for  all ;  when  his  son  should  see  that  a 
wretched  matter  of  forty  pounds  more  should  not  deter  him  from 
paying  all  just  claims  upon  him.  Amen  !  We  all  heartily  wished 
for  the  day  when  Pliilip's  father  should  be  able  to  settle  his  little 
accounts.  Meanwhile,  the  proprietors  of  the  Gazette  of  the  Ujyper 
Ten  Thousand  were  instructed  to  write  directly  to  their  London 
correspondent. 

Although  Mr.  Firmin  prided  himself,  as  we  have  seen,  upon  his 
taste  and  dexterity  as  sub-editor  of  the  Pall  Mall  Gazette,  I  must 
own  that  he  was  a  very  insubordinate  officer,  with  whom  his 
superiors  often  had  cause  to  be  angry.  Certain  people  were  praised 
in  the  Gazette — certain  others  were  attacked.  Very  dull  books 
were  admired,  and  very  lively  works  attacked.  Some  men  were 
praised  for  everytiiing  they  did  ;  some  others  were  satirised,  no 
matter  what  their  works  were.  "I  find,"  poor  Philip  used  to  say 
with  a  groan,  "  that  in  matters  of  criticism  especially  there  are  so 
often  private  reasons  for  the  praise  and  the  blame  administered, 
that  I  am  glad,  for  my  part,  my  only  duty  is  to  see  the  paper 
through  tlie  press.  For  instance,  there  is  Harrocks,  the  tragedian, 
of  Drury  Lane  :  every  piece  in  which  he  appears  is  a  masterpiece, 
and  his  performance  the  greatest  triumph  ever  witnessed.  Very 
good.  Harrocks  and  my  excellent  employer  are  good  friends,  and 
dine  with  each  other;  and  it  is  natm-al  that  Mugford  should  like 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     525 

to  have  his  friend  praised,  and  to  help  him  in  every  way.  But 
Balderson,  of  Covent  Garden,  is  also  a  very  fine  actor.  Why  can't 
our  critic  see  his  merit  as  well  as  Harrocks'  1  Poor  Balderson  is 
never  allowed  any  merit  at  all.  He  is  passed  over  with  a  sneer,  or 
a  curt  word  of  cold  commendation,  while  columns  of  flattery  are  not 
enough  for  his  rival." 

"Why,  Mr.  F.,  what  a  flat  you  must  be,  askin'  your  pardon," 
remarked  Mugford,  in  reply  to  his  sub-editor's  simple  remonstrance. 
"  How  can  we  praise  Balderson,  when  Harrocks  is  our  friend  ? 
Me  and  Harrocks  are  thick.  Our  wives  are  close  friends.  If  I 
was  to  let  Balderson  be  praised,  I  should  drive  Harrocks  mad.  I 
can't  praise  Balderson,  don't  you  see,  out  of  justice  to  Harrocks  ! " 

Then  there  was  a  certain  author  whom  Bickerton  was  for  ever 
attacking.  They  had  had  a  private  quarrel,  and  Bickerton  revenged 
himself  in  this  way.  In  reply  to  Philip's  outcries  and  remon- 
strances, Mr.  Mugford  only  laughed  :  ''  The  two  men  are  enemies, 
and  Bickerton  hits  him  whenever  he  can.  Why,  that's  only  human 
nature,  Mr.  F.,"  says  Philip's  employer. 

"  Great  heavens  ! "  bawls  out  Firmin,  "  do  you  mean  to  say 
that  the  man  is  base  enough  to  strike  at  his  private  enemies  through 
the  press  1 " 

"  Private  enemies  !  private  gammon,  Mr.  Firmin  !  "  cries  Philip's 
emi)loyer.  "  If  I  have  enemies — and  I  have,  there's  no  doubt  about 
that — I  serve  them  out  wlienever  and  wherever  I  can.  And  let 
me  tell  you  I  don't  half  relish  having  my  conduct  called  base.  It's 
only  natural ;  and  it's  right.  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  praise 
your  enemies,  and  abuse  your  friends  1  If  that's  your  line,  let  me 
tell  you  you  won't  do  in  the  noospaper  business,  and  had  better 
take  to  some  other  trade."  And  the  employer  parted  from  his 
subordinate  in  some  heat. 

Mugford,  indeed,  feelingly  spoke  to  me  about  this  iiisid)ordina- 
tion  of  Philip.  "  AVliat  does  the  lellow  mean  by  quarrelling  with 
his  bread  and  butter?"  Mr.  Mugford  asked.  "Speak  to  him  and 
show  him  what's  what,  Mr.  P.,  or  we  shall  come  to  a  (piarrel,  mind 
you — and  I  don't  Avant  that,  for  the  sake  of  his  bttle  wife,  poor 
little  delicate  thing.  Whatever  is  to  happen  to  them  if  we  don't 
stand  by  them  1-  " 

What  was  to  happen  to  them,  indeed  1  Any  one  who  knew 
Philip's  temper  as  we  did,  was  aware  how  little  advice  or  remon- 
strance was  likely  to  afl'ect  that  gentleman.  "  Good  heavens  !  " 
he  said  to  me,  when  I  endeavoured  to  make  him  adoi)t  a  concilia- 
tory tone  towards  ids  employer,  "do  you  want  to  make  me  Mug- 
ford's  galley-slave  ?  I  shall  luive  him  standing  over  me  and  swearing 
at  me  as  lie  docs  at  the  printers.     He  k)oks  into  my  room  at  times 


526  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

when  he  is  in  a  passion,  and  glares  at  me  as  if  he  wouhl  Hke  to 
seize  me  by  the  throat ;  and  after  a  word  or  two  lie  goes  off,  and 
I  hear  him  curse  the  boys  in  the  passage.  One  day  it  will  be  on 
me  that  he  will  turn,  I  feel  sure  of  that.  I  tell  you  the  slavery 
is  beginning  to  be  awful.  I  wake  of  a  night  and  groan  and  chafe, 
and  poor  Char,  too,  Avakes  and  asks,  '  What  is  it,  Philip  V  I  say 
it  is  rheumatism.  Rheumatism  ! "  Of  course  to  Philip's  malady 
his  friends  trie.l  to  apply  the  commonplace  anodynes  and  consola- 
tions. He  must  be  gentle  in  his  bearing.  He  must  remember 
that  his  employer  had  not  been  bred  a  gentleman,  and  that,  though 
rough  and  coarse  in  language,  Mugford  had  a  kind  heart.  "  There 
is  no  need  to  tell  me  he  is  not  a  gentleman,  I  know  that,"  says 
poor  Phil.  "He  is  kind  to  Char  and  the  child,  that  is  the 
truth,  and  so  is  his  wife.  I  am  a  slave  for  all  tliat.  He  is  my 
driver.  He  feeds  me.  He  hasn't  beat  me  yet.  When  I  was  away 
at  Paris  I  did  not  feel  the  chain  so  nmch.  But  it  is  scarcely  toler- 
able now,  when  I  have  to  see  my  gaoler  four  or  five  times  a  week. 
My  poor  little  Char,  why  did  I  drag  you  into  this  slavery  ?" 

"Because  you  wanted  a  consoler,  I  suppose,"  remarks  one  of 
Philip's  comforters.  "  And  do  you  suppose  Charlotte  would  be 
happier  if  she  Avere  away  from  you  1  Though  you  live  up  two  pair 
of  stairs,  is  any  home  happier  than  yours,  Philip  1  You  often  own 
as  much,  when  you  are  in  happier  moods.  Who  has  not  his  work 
to  do,  and  his  burden  to  bear  1  You  say  sometimes  that  you  are 
imperious  and  hot-tempered.  Perhaps  your  slavery,  as  you  call 
it,  may  be  good  for  you." 

"I  have  doomed  myself  and  her  to  it,"  says  Philip,  hanging 
down  his  head. 

"Does  she  ever  repine"?"  asks  his  adviser.  "Does  she  not 
think  herself  the  happiest  little  wife  in  the  world  1  See  here,  Philip, 
here  is  a  note  from  her  yesterday  in  which  she  says  as  mucli.  Do 
you  want  to  know  what  the  note  is  about,  sir?"  says  the  lady, 
with  a  smile.  "Well,  then,  she  wanted  a  receipt  for  that  dish 
which  you  liked  so  much  on  Friday,  and  she  and  Mrs.  Brandon  will 
jTiake  it  for  you." 

"And  if  it  consisted  of  minced  Charlotte,"  says  Philip's  other 
frie.'id,  "you  know  she  would  cheerfully  chop  herself  up,  and  have 
herself  served  with  a  little  cream-sauce  and  sippets  of  toast  for  your 
honour's  dinner." 

This  was  undoubtedly  true.  Did  not  Job's  friends  make  many 
true  remarks  wiien  they  visited  him  in  his  affliction  ?  Patient  as 
he  was  the  patriarch  groaned  and  lamented,  and  why  should  not 
poor  Philip  be  allowed  to  grumble,  who  was  not  a  model  of  patience 
at  all?     He  was  not  broke  in  as  yet.     The  mill-horse  was  restive 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     527 

and  kicked  at  his  work.  He  would  chafe  not  seldom  at  the  daily 
drudgery,  and  have  his  fits  of  revolt  and  despondency.  Well? 
Have  others  not  had  to  toil,  to  bow  the  proud  head,  and  carry  the 
daily  burdeni  Don't  you  see  Pegasus,  who  was  going  to  win  the  plate, 
a,  weary,  broken-knee'd,  broken-down  old  cab-hack  shivering  in  the 
rank ;  or  a  sleek  gelding,  mayhap,  pacing  under  a  corpulent  master 
in  Rotten  Row  1  Philip's  crust  began  to  be  scanty,  and  was  dipi)e(l 
in  bitter  waters.  I  am  not  going  to  make  a  long  story  of  this  part 
of  his  career,  or  parade  my  friend  as  too  hungry  and  poor.  He  is 
safe  now,  and  out  of  all  peril,  Heaven  be  thanked  !  but  he  had  to 
pass  through  hard  times,  and  to  look  out  very  wistfully  lest  the 
wolf  should  enter  at  the  door.  He  never  laid  claim  to  be  a  man  of 
genius,  nor  was  he  a  successful  quack  who  could  ])ass  as  a  man  of 
genius.  When  there  were  French  ])risoners  in  England,  we  know 
how  stout  old  officers  who  had  plied  their  sabres  against  Mamclouks, 
or  Russians,  or  Germans,  were  fain  to  carve  little  gimcrack.s  in 
bone  with  their  penknives,  or  make  baskets  and  boxes  of  chipjied 
straw,  and  piteously  sell  them  to  casual  visitors  to  their  prison. 
Philip  was  poverty's  prisoner.  He  had  to  make  such  shifts,  and  do 
such  work,  as  he  could  find  in  his  captivity.  I  do  not  think  men 
who  have  undergone  the  struggle  and  served  tlie  dire  task-master, 
like  to  look  back  and  recall  the  grim  apprenticeshii).  When  Philip 
says  now,  "  What  fools  we  were  to  marry,  Char ! "  she  looks  up 
radiantly,  with  love  and  happiness  in  her  eyes — looks  up  to  Heaven, 
and  is  thankful  ;  but  grief  and  sadness  come  over  her  husband's 
face  at  the  thought  of  tliose  days  of  pain  and  gloom.  She  may 
soothe  him,  and  he  may  be  tliankful  too;  but  the  wounds  are  still 
there  which  were  dealt  to  him  in  the  cruel  battle  with  fortune. 
Men  are  ridden  down  in  it.  Men  are  poltroons  and  run.  Men 
maraud,  break  ranks,  are  guilty  of  meanness,  cowardice,  shabby 
plunder.  Men  are  raised  to  rank  and  honour,  or  drop  and  perish 
unnoticed  on  the  field.  Happy  he  who  comes  from  it  with  his 
honour  pure  !  T'hilip  did  not  win  crosses  and  epaulets.  He  is  like 
us,  my  dear  sir,  not  an  heroic  genius  at  all.  And  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  all  three  have  behaved  with  an  average  pluck,  and  have  been 
guilty  of  no  meami(!ss,  or  treachery,  or  desertion.  Did  you  behave 
otherwise,  what  would  wife  and  chil(h-en  say?  As  for  Mrs.  Philip, 
I  tell  you  she  thinks  to  tin's  day  that  there  is  no  man  lik(^  her 
husband,  and  is  ready  to  fall  down  and  worship  the  boots  in  which 
he  walks. 

How  do  men  live?  How  is  rent  paid?  How  does  the  dinner 
<;ome  day  after  day  ?  As  a  rule  there  is  dinner.  You  might  live 
longer  with  less  of  it,  but  you  can't  go  without  it  and  live  Ioult. 
lliiw  (lid  my  tieighltour  2.']  earn  his  carriage,  and  how  did  24  jiay 


528  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

for  his  house  1  As  I  ain  writing  this  sentence  Mr.  Cox,  who  collects 
the  taxes  in  this  quarter,  walks  in.  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  Cox? 
We  are  not  in  the  least  afraid  of  meeting  one  another.  Time  was 
— two,  three  years  of  time — when  i)oor  Philip  was  troubled  at  the 
sight  of  Cox ;  and  this  troublous  time  his  biographer  intends  to 
pass  over  in  a  very  few  pages. 

At  the  end  of  six  niontlis  the  Upper  Ten  Thousand  of  New 
York  heard  with  modified  wonder  that  the  editor  of  that  fashion- 
aljle  journal  had  made  a  retreat  from  the  city,  carrying  with  him 
the  scanty  contents  of  the  till ;  so  the  contributions  of  Philalethes 
never  brouglit  our  poor  friend  any  dollars  at  all.  But  though  one 
fish  is  caught  and  eaten,  are  there  not  plenty  more  left  in  the  seal 
At  this  very  time,  wlien  I  was  in  a  natural  state  of  despondency 
about  poor  Philip's  affairs,  it  struck  Tregarvan,  the  wealthy  Cornish 
Member  of  Parliament,  that  the  Government  and  the  House  of 
Commons  slighted  his  speeches  and  his  views  on  foreign  jiolitics ; 
that  the  wife  of  the  Foreign  Secretary  had  been  very  inattentive  to 
Lady  Tregarvan ;  that  the  designs  of  a  certain  Great  Power  were 
most  menacing  and  dangerous,  and  ought  to  be  exposed  and  counter- 
acted ;  and  that  the  peerage  which  he  had  long  desired  ought  to  be 
bestowed  on  him.  Sir  John  Tregarvan  applied  to  certain  literary 
and  political  gentlemen  with  whom  he  was  acquainted.  He  would 
bring  out  the  European  Review.  He  would  expose  the  designs  of 
that  Great  Power  which  was  menacing  Europe.  He  would  show 
\\\)  in  his  proper  colours  a  Minister  who  was  careless  of  the  country's 
honour,  and  forgetful  of  his  own  :  a  Minister  whose  arrogance  ought 
no  longer  to  be  tolerated  by  the  country  gentlemen  of  England. 
Sir  John,  a  little  man  in  brass  buttons,  and  a  tall  head,  who  loves 
to  hear  his  own  voice,  came  and  made  a  speech  on  the  above  topics 
to  the  writer  of  the  present  biography ;  that  writer's  lady  was  in 
his  study  as  Sir  John  expounded  his  views  at  some  length.  She 
listened  to  him  with  the  greatest  attention  and  respect.  She  was 
shocked  to  hear  of  the  ingratitude  of  Government ;  astounded  and 
terrified  by  his  exposition  of  the  designs  of — of  that  Great  Power 
wliose  intrigues  were  so  menacing  to  European  tranquillity.  She 
was  most  deeply  interested  in  the  idea  of  establishing  the  Review. 
He  would,  of  course,  be  himself  the  editor ;  and — and — (here  the 
woman  looked  across  the  table  at  her  husband  with  a  strange 
triumph  in  her  eyes) — she  knew,  they  both  knew,  the  very  man 
of  all  the  %vorld  who  was  most  suited  to  act  as  sub-editor  vmder  Sir 
John — a  gentleman,  one  of  the  truest  that  ever  lived — a  University 
man ;  a  man  remarkably  versed  in  the  European  languages — that 
is,  in  French  most  certainly.  Anil  now  the  reader,  I  daresay,  can 
guess  who  this  individual  was.     "  I  knew  it  at  once,"  says  the  lady, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     529 

after  Sir  John  had  taken  his  leave.  "  I  told  you  that  tiiose  dear 
children  would  not  be  forsaken."  And  I  would  no  more  try  and 
persuade  her  that  the  Eurojyean  Revieiv  was  not  ordained  of  all 
time  to  afford  maintenance  to  Philip,  than  I  would  induce  her  to 
turn  Mormon,  and  accej)t  all  the  consequences  to  which  ladies 
must  submit  when  they  make  profession  of  that  creed. 

"You  see,  my  love,"  I  say  to  the  partner  of  my  existence, 
"  what  other  things  must  have  been  ordained  of  all  time  as  well  as 
Philip's  ap])ointment  to  be  sub-editor  of  tlie  European  Jieview.  It 
nmst  have  been  decreed  ah  initio  that  Lady  Plinlimmon  should 
give  evening  parties,  in  order  that  she  might  offend  Lady  Trcgarvan 
by  not  asking  her  to  those  parties.  It  must  liave  been  ordained 
by  fate  that  Lady  Tregarvan  sliould  be  of  a  jealous  disj)ositiou,  so 
that  she  miglit  hate  Lady  Plinlimmon,  and  was  to  work  upon  her 
husl)and,  and  inspire  him  with  anger  and  revolt  against  his  chief 
It  must  have  been  ruled  by  destiny  that  Tregarvan  should  be 
rather  a  weak  and  wordy  personage,  fancying  that  he  had  a  talent 
for  literary  composition.  Else  he  would  not  have  thought  of  set- 
ting up  the  Revieiv.  Else  he  would  never  have  been  angry  with 
Lord  Plinlimmon  for  not  inviting  him  to  tea.  Else  he  would  not 
have  engaged  Philip  as  sub-editor.  So,  you  see,  in  order  to  bring 
about  this  event,  and  put  a  couple  of  hundred  a  year  into  Philip 
Firmin's  pocket,  the  Tregarvans  have  to  be  born  from  the  earliest 
times ;  the  Plinlimmons  have  to  spring  up  in  the  remotest  ages, 
and  come  down  to  the  present  day  :  Dr.  Firmin  has  to  be  a  rogue, 
and  undergo  his  destiny  of  cheating  his  son  of  money  : — all  man- 
kind up  to  the  origin  of  our  race  are  involved  in  your  proposition ; 
and  we  actually  arrive  at  Adam  and  Eve,  who  are  but  fulfilling 
their  destiny,  -which  was  to  be  the  ancestors  of  Philip  Firmin." 

"  Even  in  our  first  parents  there  was  doubt  and  scepticism  and 
misgiving,"  says  the  lady,  with  strong  emphasis  on  the  wonls. 
"  If  you  mean  to  say  that  there  is  no  such  thing  as  a  Superior 
Power  watching  over  us,  and  ordaining  things  for  our  good,  you  are 
an  atheist — and  such  a  thing  as  an  atheist  does  not  exist  in  the 
world,  and  I  would  not  believe  yon  if  you  said  you  were  one  twenty 
times  over." 

I  mention  these  points  by  the  way,  and  as  sam])les  of  ladylike 
logic.  I  acknowledge  that  Philip  himself,  as  he  looks  back  at  his 
past  career,  is  very  much  moved.  "I  do  not  deny,"  he  says 
gravely,  "  that  tliese  things  hai)iiened  in  tlie  natural  onlei-.  I  say  I 
am  grateful  for  what  hai»])ened:  and  look  back  at  the  i)ast  not  with- 
out awe.  In  great  grief  and  danger  maybe,  I  have  had  timely  rescue. 
Under  great  suffering  I  have  met  witli  supreme  consolation.  When 
the  trial  has  seemed  almost  too  hard  for  me  it  has  ended,  and  our 


530  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

darkness  has  been  lightened.  Ut  vivo  et  valeo — si  valeo,  I  know  by 
Whose  permission  this  is, — and  would  you  forbid  me  to  be  thankful? 
to  be  thankful  for  my  life ;  to  be  thankfid  for  my  children ;  to  be 
thankful  for  the  daily  bread  wliich  has  been  granted  to  me,  and  the 
temptation  from  which  I  have  been  rescued  ?  As  I  think  of  the 
past  and  its  bitter  trials,  I  bow  my  head  in  thanks  and  awe.  I 
wanted  succour,  and  I  found  it.  I  fell  on  evil  times,  and  good 
friends  pitied  and  helped  me — good  friends  like  yourself,  your  dear 
wife,  many  another  I  could  name.  In  what  moments  of  depression, 
old  friend,  have  you  not  seen  me  and  cheered  me  ?  Do  you  know 
in  the  moments  of  our  grief  the  inexpressible  value  of  your  sympathy? 
Your  good  Samaritan  takes  out  only  twopence  maybe  for  the  way- 
farer whom  he  has  rescued,  but  the  little  timely  supply  saves  a 
life.  You  remember  dear  old  Ned  St.  George — dead  in  the  West 
Indies  years  ago  ?  Before  he  got  his  place  Ned  was  hanging  on  in 
Loudon,  so  utterly  poor  and  ruined,  that  he  had  not  often  a  shilling 
to  buy  a  dinner.  He  used  often  to  come  to  us,  and  my  wife  and 
our  children  loved  him ;  and  I  used  to  leave  a  heap  of  shillings 
on  my  study-table,  so  that  he  might  take  two  or  three  as  he 
wanted  them.  Of  course  you  remember  him.  You  were  at  the 
dinner  which  we  gave  him  on  his  getting  his  place.  I  forget  the 
cost  of  that  dinner ;  but  I  remember  my  share  amounted  to  the 
exact  number  of  shillings  which  poor  Ned  had  taken  off  my  table. 
He  gave  me  the  money  then  and  there  at  the  tavern  at  Blackwall. 
He  said  it  seemed  providential.  But  for  those  shillings,  and  the 
constant  welcome  at  our  poor  little  table,  he  said  he  thought  he 
should  have  made  away  with  his  life.  I  am  not  bragging  of  the 
twopence  which  I  gave,  but  thanking  God  for  sending  me  there  to 
give  it.  Benedico  benedictus.  I  wonder  sometimes  am  I  the  I  of 
twenty  years  ago?  before  our  heads  were  bald,  friend,  and  when 
the  little  ones  reached  up  to  our  knees  ?  Before  dinner  you  saw 
me  in  the  library  reading  in  that  old  Eiiropean  Review  which  your 
friend  Tregarvan  established.  I  came  upon  an  article  of  my  own, 
and  a  very  dull  one,  on  a  subject  which  I  knew  nothing  about. 
'  Persian  politics,  and  the  intrigues  at  the  Court  of  Teheran.'  It 
was  done  to  order.  Tregaiwan  had  some  special  interest  about 
Persia,  or  wanted  to  vex  Sir  Thomas  Nobbles,  who  was  Minister 
there.  I  breakfasted  with  Tregarvan  in  the  Albany,  the  facts  (we 
will  call  them  facts)  and  papers  were  supplied  to  me,  and  I  went 
home  to  point  out  the  delinquencies  of  Sir  Thomas,  and  the  atrocious 
intrigues  of  the  Ptussian  Court.  Well,  sir.  Nobbles,  Tregarvan, 
Teheran,  all  disappeared  as  I  looked  at  the  text  in  the  old  volume 
of  the  Revieiv.  I  saw  a  deal  table  in  a  little  room,  and  a  reading- 
lamp,  and  a  young  fellow  writing  at  it,  with  a  sad   rieart,  and  a 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     531 

dreadful  apprehension  torturing  liim.  One  of  our  children  was  ill 
in  the  adjoining  room,  and  I  have  before  me  the  figure  of  my  wife 
coming  in  from  time  to  time  to  my  room  and  saying,  '  She  is  asleep 
now,  and  the  fever  is  much  lower.' " 

Here  our  conversation  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  tall 
young  lady,  who  says,  "  Papa,  the  coffee  is  c^uite  cold  :  and  the 
carriage  will  be  here  very  soon,  and  both  mamma  and  my  god- 
mother say  they  are  growing  very  angry.  Do  you  know  you  have 
been  talking  here  for  two  hours  1 " 

Had  two  hours  actually  slipped  away  as  we  sat  prattling  about 
old  times?  As  I  narrate  them,  I  prefer  to  give  Mr.  Firmin's  account 
of  his  adventures  in  his  own  words,  where  I  can  recall  or  imitate 
them.  Both  of  us  are  graver  and  more  reverend  seigniors  than  we 
were  at  the  time  of  which  I  am  writing.  Has  not  Firmin's  girl 
grown  up  to  be  taller  than  her  godmother?  Veterans  both,  we  love 
to  prattle  about  the  merry  days  when  we  were  young — (the  meny 
days?  no,  the  past  is  never  merry) — about  the  days  Avhen  Ave  were 
young ;  and  do  we  grow  young  in  talking  of  them,  or  only  indulge 
in  a  senile  cheerfulness  and  prolixity  ? 

Tregarvan  sleeps  with  his  Cornish  fathers  :  Eui'ope  for  many 
years  has  gone  on  without  her  Review :  but  it  is  a  certainty  that 
the  establisliment  of  that  occult  organ  of  opinion  tended  very  much 
to  benefit  Philip  Firmin,  and  helped  for  a  while  to  supply  him  and 
several  innocent  people  dependent  on  him  with  their  daily  bread. 
Of  course,  as  they  were  so  poor,  this  worthy  family  increased  and 
multiplied ;  and  as  they  increased,  and  as  they  multiplied,  my  wife 
insists  that  I  should  point  out  how  support  was  found  for  them. 
When  there  was  a  second  child  in  Pliilijj's  nursery,  he  would  have 
removed  from  his  lodgings  iu  Thoinhaugh  Street,  but  for  the  prayers 
and  commands  of  the  affectionate  Little  Sister,  wlio  insisted  that 
there  was  plenty  of  room  in  the  house  for  everybody,  and  who  said 
that  if  Philip  went  away  she  would  cut  oft"  hoi'  little  godchild  with 
a  shilling.  And  then  indeed  it  was  discovered  for  the  first  time, 
that  this  faithful  antl  affectionate  creature  had  eiidowed  Philip  with 
all  her  little  property.  These  are  the  rays  of  sunshine  in  the 
dungeon.  These  are  the  drops  of  water  in  the  desert.  And  with 
;i  fidl  heart  our  friend  acknowledges  how  comfort  came  to  him  in 
his  hour  of  need. 

Though  Mr.  Firmin  has  a  very  grateful  heart,  it  has  been 
admitted  that  he  was  a  loud  disagreeable  Firmin  at  times,  im- 
I»etuous  in  his  talk,  and  violent  in  his  behaviour :  and  we  are 
now  come  to  that  period  of  his  history,  when  he  had  a  quarrel 
in  whicli  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  wrong.  Why 
do  we  consort  witli  those  wliom  we  dislike  ?     Why  is  it  tiiat  men 


532  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

ivill  try  and  associate  between  whom  no  love  is  ?  I  think  it  was 
the  ladies  who  tried  to  reconcile  Philip  and  his  master;  who 
brought  them  together,  and  strove  to  make  them  friends ;  but  the 
more  they  met  the  more  they  disliked  each  other;  and  now  the 
Muse  has  to  relate  their  final  and  irreconcilable  rupture. 

Of  Mugford's  wrath  the  direful  tale  relate,  O  Muse  !  and  Philip's 
])itiable  fate.  I  have  shown  how  the  men  had  long  been  inwardly 
envenomed  one  against  the  otlier.  "  Because  Firniin  is  as  poor  as 
a  rat,  that's  no  reason  why  lie  should  adopt  that  hawhaw  manner, 
and  them  high  and  mighty  airs  towards  a  man  who  gives  him  the 
bread  he  eats,"  Mugford  argued  not  unjustly,  "What  do  /  care 
for  his  being  a  University  man?  I  am  as  good  as  he  is.  I  am 
better  than  his  old  scamp  of  a  father,  who  was  a  College  man  too, 
and  lived  in  fine  company.  I  made  my  own  way  in  the  world,  inde- 
pendent, and  supported  myself  since  I  was  fourteen  years  of  age, 
and  helped  my  mother  and  brothers  too,  and  that's  more  than  my 
sub-editor  can  say,  who  can't  support  himself  yet.  I  could  get 
fifty  sub-editors  as  good  as  he  is,  by  calling  out  of  window  into 
the  street,  I  could.  I  say,  hang  Firmin  !  I'm  a-losing  all  patience 
with  him."  On  the  other  hand,  Mr.  Philip  was  in  the  habit  of 
speaking  his  mind  with  equal  candour.  "What  right  has  that 
person  to  call  me  Firmin  %  "  he  asked.  "  I  am  Firmin  to  my  equals 
and  friends.  I  am  this  man's  labourer  at  four  guineas  a  week.  I 
give  him  his  money's  worth,  and  on  every  Saturday  evening  we  are 
quits.  Call  me  Philip  indeed,  and  strike  me  in  the  side  !  I  choke, 
sir,  as  I  think  of  the  confounded  familiarity  ! "  "  Confound  his 
impudence  ! "  was  the  cry,  and  the  not  unjust  cry,  of  the  labourer 
and  his  employer.  The  men  should  have  been  kept  apart :  and  it 
was  a  most  mistaken  Christian  charity  and  female  conspiracy  which 
brought  them  together.  "Another  invitation  from  Mugford.  It  was 
agreed  that  I  was  never  to  go  again,  and  I  won't  go,"  says  Philip 
to  his  meek  wife.      "  Write  and  say  we  are  engaged,  Cliarlotte." 

"It  is  for  the  18th  of  next  month,  and  this  is  the  S.Srd,"  said 
poor  Charlotte.  "We  can't  well  say  that  we  are  engaged  so 
far  off." 

"It  is  for  one  of  his  grand  ceremony  parties,"  urged  tlie  Little 
Sister.  "  You  can't  come  to  no  quarrelling  there.  He  has  a  good 
heart.  So  have  you.  There's  no  good  quarrelling  with  him.  Oh, 
Philip,  do  forgive,  and  be  friends  ! "  Philip  yielded  to  the  re- 
monstrances of  the  women,  as  we  all  do  ;  and  a  letter  was  sent  to 
Hampstead,  announcing  tliat  Mr.  and  Mrs.  P.  F.  would  have  the 
honour  of,  &c. 

In  his  quality  of  news])aper  proprietor,  musical  professors  and 
opera  singers  paid  much  court  to  Mr.  Mugford ;  and  he  liked  to 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUC^H    THE    WORLD     533 

entertain  them  at  his  hospitable  table  ;  to  lirag  about  his  Aviiics, 
cookery,  plate,  garden,  prosperity,  and  i)rivate  virtne,  during 
dinner,  wliilst  the  artists  sat  respectfully  listening  to  him ;  and  to 
go  to  sleep  and  snore,  or  wake  up  and  join  cheerfully  in  a  chorus, 
when  the  professional  i)eople  performed  in  the  drawing-room.  Now, 
there  was  a  lady  who  was  once  known  at  the  theatre  by  the  name 
of  Mrs.  Ravenswing,  and  who  had  been  forced  on  to  the  stage  by 
the  misconduct  of  her  husband,  a  certain  Walker,  one  of  tlie 
greatest  scamps  who  ever  entered  a  gaol.  On  Walker's  death,  this 
lady  married  a  Mr.  Woolsey,  a  wealthy  tailor,  who  retired  from  his 
business,  as  he  caused  his  wife  to  withdraw  from  hers. 

Now,  more  worthy  and  honourable  people  do  not  live  than 
Woolsey  and  his  wife,  as  those  know  who  are  acquainted  with 
their  history.  Mrs.  Woolsey  is  loud.  Her  /i's  are  by  no  means 
where  they  shovdd  be ;  her  knife  at  dinner  is  often  where  it  should 
not  be.  She  calls  men  aloud  by  their  names,  and  without  any 
prefix  of  courtesy.  She  is  very  fond  of  i)orter,  and  has  no  scruple  in 
asking  for  it.  She  sits  down  to  play  the  piano  and  to  sing  with 
perfect  good-nature,  and  if  you  look  at  lier  hands  as  they  wander 
over  the  keys — well,  I  don't  wish  to  say  anytliing  unkind,  but  I  am 
forced  to  say  that  those  hands  are  not  so  white  as  the  ivory  whi(;h 
they  thump.  Woolsey  sits  in  perfect  rapture  listening  to  his  wife. 
Mugford  presses  her  to  take  a  glass  of  "  somethink  "  afterwards  ; 
and  the  good-natured  soul  says  she  will  take  "something  'ot."  She 
sits  and  listens  with  infinite  patience  and  good-humour  whilst  the 
little  Mugfords  go  through  their  horrid  little  nnisical  exercises  ;  and 
these  over,  she  is  ready  to  go  back  to  the  piano  again,  and  sing 
more  songs,  and  drink  more  "  'ot." 

I  do  not  say  that  this  was  an  elegant  woman,  or  a  fitting  com- 
panion for  Mrs.  Philip  ;  but  I  know  that  IVIrs.  Woolsey  was  a  good, 
clever,  and  kindly  woman,  and  that  Philip  behaved  rudely  to  her. 
He  never  meant  to  be  rude  to  her,  he  said  ;  but  the  truth  is,  he 
treated  her,  her  husband,  Mugford,  and  Mrs.  Mugford,  with  a 
haughty  ill-humour  which  utterly  exasperated  and  perplexed  them. 

About  this  poor  lady,  who  was  modest  and  innocent  as  Susannah, 
Philip  had  heard  some  wicked  elders  at  wicked  clubs  tell  wicked 
stories  in  old  times.  There  was  that  old  Trail,  for  instance,  what 
woman  escaped  from  his  sneers  and  slan(U'r  ?  There  were  others 
who  could  be  named,  and  whose  testimony  was  ecjually  untruthful. 
On  an  ordinary  occasion  Philip  woidd  never  have  cared  or  scjuabblcd 
about  a  question  of  precedence,  and  would  have  taken  any  place 
assigned  to  him  at  any  table.  Pint  when  Mrs.  Woolsey  in  crum])led 
satins  and  blowsy  lace  maile  her  appearance,  and  was  eagerly  and 
respectfully  saluted  by  the   host  and   hostess.  Philip  remembered 


5S4  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

those  early  stories  about  the  poor  lady  :  his  eyes  flashed  wrath,  and 
his  breast  beat  with  an  indignation  which  almost  choked  him.  Ask 
that  woman  to  meet  my  wife  1  he  thought  to  himself,  and  looked 
so  ferocious  and  desperate  that  the  timid  little  wife  gazed  with 
alarm  at  her  Philip,  and  crept  up  to  him  and  whispered  "What  is 
it,  dear?" 

Meanwhile,  Mrs.  Mugford  and  Mrs.  Woolsey  were  in  full 
colloquy  about  the  weather,  the  nursery,  and  so  forth — and  Woolsey 
and  Mugford  giving  each  other  the  hearty  grasp  of  friendship. 
Philip,  then,  scowling  at  the  newly-arrived  guests,  turning  his  great 
hulking  back  upon  the  company,  and  talking  to  his  wife,  presented 
a  not  agreeable  figure  to  liis  entertainer. 

"  Hang  the  fellow's  pride  !  "  thought  Mugford.  "  He  chooses 
to  turn  his  back  upon  my  company,  because  Woolsey  was  a  trades- 
man. An  honest  tailor  is  better  than  a  bankrupt  swindling  doctor, 
I  should  think.  Woolsey  need  not  be  ashamed  to  show  his  face,  I 
suppose.  Why  did  you  make  me  ask  that  fellar  again,  Mrs.  M.  ? 
Don't  you  see,  our  society  ain't  good  enough  for  him  1 " 

Philip's  conduct,  then,  so  irritated  Mugford,  that  when  dinner 
was  announced,  he  stepped  forward  and  oftered  his  arm  to  Mrs. 
Woolsey  ;  having  intended  in  the  first  instance  to  confer  that  honour 
upon  Charlotte.  "  I'll  show  him, '  thought  Mugford,  "  that  an 
honest  tradesman's  lady  who  pays  his  way,  and  is  not  afraid  of 
anybody,  is  better  than  my  sub-editor's  wife,  the  daughter  of  a 
bankrupt  swell."  Though  the  dinner  was  illuminated  by  Mugford's 
grandest  plate,  and  accompanied  by  his  very  best  wine,  it  was  a 
gloomy  and  weary  repast  to  several  people  present,  and  Philip  and 
Charlotte,  and  I  daresay  Mugford,  thought  it  never  would  be  done. 
Mrs.  Woolsey,  to  be  sure,  placidly  ate  her  dinner,  and  drank  her 
wine  ;  whilst,  remembering  these  wicked  legends  against  her,  Philip 
sat  before  the  poor  unconscious  lady,  silent,  with  glaring  eyes,  inso- 
lent and  odious ;  so  much  so,  that  Mrs.  Woolsey  imparted  to  Mrs. 
Mugford  her  surmise  that  the  tall  gentleman  must  have  got  out  of 
bed  the  wrong  leg  foremost. 

Well,  Mrs.  Woolsey 's  carriage  and  Mr.  Firmin's  cab  were  an- 
nounced at  the  same  moment ;  and  immediately  Philip  started  up 
and  beckoned  his  wife  away.  But  Mrs.  Woolsey's  carriage  and 
lamps  of  course  had  the  precedence  :  and  this  lady  Mr.  Mugford 
accompanied  to  her  carriage  step. 

He  did  not  pay  the  same  attention  to  Mrs.  Firmin.  Most 
likely  he  forgot.  Possibly  he  did  not  think  etiquette  required  he 
should  show  that  sort  of  politeness  to  a  sub-editor's  wife :  at  any 
rate,  he  was  not  so  rude  as  Philip  himself  had  been  during  the 
evening,  but  he  stood  in  the  hall  looking  at  his  guests  departing  in 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUCxH    THE    WORLD      535 

their  cab,  when,  in  a  sudden  gust  of  passion,  Philip  stepped  out  of 
the  oarriage,  and  stalked  up  to  his  host,  who  stood  there  in  his  own 
hall  confronting  hiin,  Philip  declared,  vnth  a  most  impudent  smile 
on  his  face. 

"  Come  back  to  light  a  pipe,  I  suppose  ?  Nice  thing  for  your 
wife,  ain't  it  1 "  said  Mugford,  relishing  his  own  joke. 

"  I  am  come  back,  sir,"  said  Phili]),  glaring  at  Mugford,  "  to 
ask  how  you  dared  invite  Mrs,  Philip  Firmin  to  meet  tliat 
woman  *? " 

Here,  on  his  side,  Mr.  Mugford  lost  his  temper,  and  from  this 
moment  his  wrong  begins.  When  he  was  in  a  passion,  the  language 
used  by  Mr.  Mugford  was  not,  it  appears,  choice.  We  have  heard 
that  when  angry  he  was  in  the  habit  of  swearing  freely  at  his  sub- 
ordinates. He  broke  out  on  this  occasion  also  with  many  oaths. 
He  told  Philip  that  he  would  stand  his  impudence  no  longer ;  that 
he  was  as  good  as  a  swindling  doctor's  son  :  that  though  he  hadn't 
been  to  college  he  could  buy  and  pay  them  as  had ;  and  that  if 
Philip  liked  to  come  into  the  back  yard  for  ten  minutes,  he'd  give 
him  one — two,  and  show  hiin  whether  he  was  a  man  or  not.  Poor 
Char,  who,  indeed,  fancied  that  her  husband  had  gone  back  to  light 
his  cigar,  sat  awhile  unconscious  in  her  cab,  and  supposed  that 
the  two  gentlemen  were  engaged  on  newspaper  business.  AVhcu 
Mugford  began  to  pull  his  coat  off,  she  sat  wondering,  but  not  in 
the  least  understanding  the  meaning  of  the  action.  Philip  had 
described  his  employer  as  walking  about  his  office  without  a  coat 
and  using  energetic  language. 

But  when,  attracted  by  the  loudness  of  the  talk,  Mrs.  Mugford 
came  forth  from  her  neighbouring  drawing-room,  accompanied  by 
such  of  her  children  as  had  not  yet  gone  to  roost — when  seeing 
Mugford  pulling  off  his  dress-coat,  she  began  to  scream — when, 
lifting  his  voice  over  hers,  Mugford  poured  forth  oaths,  and  frantic- 
ally shook  his  fists  at  Philip,  asking  how  that  blackguard  dared 
insult  him  in  his  own  house,  and  proi)osing  to  knock  his  head  off 
at  that  moment-then  poor  Char,  in  wild  alarm,  sprang  out  of  the 
cab,  and  ran  to  her  husband,  whose  whole  fi-ame  was  throbbing, 
wliose  nostrils  were  snorting  with  passion.  Then  Mrs.  Mugford, 
springing  forward,  placed  her  ample  form  before  her  husband's,  and 
calling  Philip  a  great  cowardly  beast,  asked  Ijim  if  he  was  going  to 
attack  that  little  old  man'?  Then  Mugford  dasliing  his  coat  down 
to  the  ground,  ("lUed  with  fresh  oaths  to  Philip  to  come  on.  And, 
in  fine,  there  was  a  most  uni)leasant  row,  occasioned  by  Mr.  Philip 
Firmin's  hot  temper. 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

RES  AN  GUST  A   DO  MI 

'  I  ^0  reconcile  these  two  men  was  imjjossible,  after  such  a  quarrel 
I  as  that  described  in  the  last  chapter.  The  only  chance  of 
-^  peace  was  to  keep  the  two  men  apart.  If  they  met,  they 
would  fly  at  each  other.  Mugford  always  persisted  that  he  could 
have  got  the  better  of  his  great  hulking  sub-editor,  who  did  not 
know  the  use  of  his  fists.  In  Mugford's  youthful  time,  bruising 
was  a  fashionable  art ;  and  the  old  gentleman  still  believed  in  his 
own  skill  and  prowess.  "  Don't  tell  me,"  he  would  say  ;  "  tliough 
the  fellar  is  as  big  as  a  life-guardsman,  I  would  have  doubled  him 
up  in  two  minutes."  I  am  very  glad,  for  i>oor  Charlotte's  sake,  and 
his  own,  that  Philip  did  not  undergo  the  doubling-up  process.  He 
himself  felt  such  a  wrath  and  surprise  at  his  employer,  as,  I  sup- 
pose, a  lion  does  when  a  little  dog  attacks  him.  I  should  not  like 
to  be  that  little  dog ;  nor  does  my  modest  and  peaceful  nature  at  all 
prompt  and  impel  me  to  combat  with  lions. 

It  was  mighty  well  Mr.  Philip  Firmin  had  shown  his  spirit, 
and  quarrelled  with  his  bread-and-butter ;  but  when  Saturday 
came,  what  philanthropist  would  hand  four  sovereigns  and  four 
shillings  over  to  Mr.  F.,  as  Mr.  Burjoyce,  the  publisher  of  the 
Pall  Mall  Gazette,  had  been  accustomed  to  do  ?  I  will  say  for  my 
friend  that  a  still  keener  remorse  than  that  which  he  felt  about 
money  thrown  away  attended  him  when  he  found  that  Mrs.  Woolsey, 
towards  whom  he  had  cast  a  sidelong  stone  of  persecution,  was  a 
most  respectable  and  honourable  lady.  "  I  should  like  to  go,  sir, 
and  grovel  before  her,"  Philip  said,  in  his  energetic  way.  "  If  I  see 
that  tailor,  I  will  request  him  to  put  Iiis  foot  on  my  head,  and 
trample  on  me  with  his  highlows.  Oh,  for  shame  !  for.  shame  ! 
shall  I  never  learn  charity  towards  my  neighbours,  and  always  go 
on  believing  in  the  lies  which  people  tell  me  1  When  I  meet  that 
scoundrel  Trail  at  the  club,  I  must  chastise  him.  How  dared  he 
take  away  the  reputation  of  an  honest  woman  1 "  Philip's  friends 
besought  him,  for  the  sake  of  society  and  i>eace,  not  to  carry  this 
quarrel  forther.  "  If,"  we  said,  "  every  woman  whom  Trail  has 
maligned  had  a  champion  who  should  box  Trail's  ears  at  the  club, 


PATKKFAMILIAS. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     537 

what  a  vulgar  quarrelsome  place  tliat  club  would  become  !  IMy 
dear  Philip,  did  you  ever  know  Mr.  Trail  say  a  good  word  of  man 
or  woman?"  and  by  these  or  similar  entreaties  and  arguments,  we 
succeeded  in  keeping  the  Queen's  peace. 

Yes  :  but  how  find  another  Fall  Mall  Gazette  ?  Had  Philip 
possessed  seven  thousand  i)ounds  in  the  three  per  cents.,  his  income 
would  have  been  no  greater  than  that  which  he  drew  from  INIugford's 
faithful  bank.  Ah  !  how  wonderful  ways  and  means  are  !  Wlien 
I  think  how  this  very  line,  this  very  word,  Avhich  I  am  writing 
I'cpresents  money.  I  am  lost  in  a  respectful  astonishment.  A  man 
takes  his  own  case,  as  he  says  his  own  prayers,  on  behalf  of  himself 
and  his  family.  I  am  paid,  we  will  say,  for  the  sake  of  illustration, 
at  the  rate  of  sixpence  per  line.  With  the  words  "  Ah,  how 
wonderful,"  to  the  words  "  per  line,"  I  can  buy  a  loaf,  a  piece  of 
butter,  a  jug  of  milk,  a  modicum  of  tea, — actually  enough  to  make 
breakfast  for  the  family  ;  and  the  servants  of  the  house  ;  and  the 
charwoman,  their  servant,  can  shake  up  the  tea-leaves  with  a  fresh 
supply  of  water,  sop  the  crusts,  and  get  a  meal  tatit  bien  que  mal. 
Wife,  children,  guests,  servants,  charwoman,  we  are  all  actually 
making  a  meal  off  Philip  Firmin's  bones  as  it  were.  And  my  next- 
door  neighbour,  whom  I  see  marching  away  to  chambers,  umbrella 
in  hand  ?  And  next  door  but  one  the  City  man  ?  And  next  door 
but  two  the  doctor  1 — I  know  the  baker  has  left  loaves  at  every  one 
of  their  doors  this  morning,  that  all  their  chimneys  are  smoking, 
and  they  will  all  have  breakfast.  Ah,  thank  God  for  it !  I  hope, 
friend,  you  and  I  are  not  too  proud  to  ask  for  our  daily  bread,  and 
to  be  grateful  for  getting  it  1  Mr.  Philiii  had  to  w^ork  for  his,  in 
care  and  trouble,  like  other  children  of  men  : — to  work  for  it,  and  I 
hope  to  pray  for  it,  too.  It  is  a  thought  to  me  awful  and  beautiful, 
tiiat  of  the  daily  prayer,  and  of  the  myriads  of  fellow-men  uttering 
it,  in  care  and  in  sickness,  in  doubt  and  in  poverty,  in  health  and  in 
wealth.  Panem  voatrum  da  nobix  hodie.  Philip  whispers  it  by 
the  bedside  where  wife  and  child  lie  sleeping,  and  goes  to  his  early 
lal)our  with  a  stouter  heart :  as  he  creeps  to  his  rest  when  the  day's 
labour  is  over,  and  the  quotidian  bread  is  earned,  and  breathes  his 
hushed  thanks  to  the  bountiful  Giver  of  the  meal.  All  over  this 
world  what  an  endless  chorus  is  singing  of  love,  and  thaidis,  and 
])rayer.     Day  tells  to  day  the  wondrous  story,  and  night  recounts 

it  unto  night. How  do  I  come  to  think  of  a  sunrise  which  I  saw 

near  twenty  years  ago  on  the  Xile,  when  the  river  and  sky  Hushed 
and  glowed  with  the  dawning  light,  and  as  the  luminary  ap])eared, 
the  boatman  knelt  on  the  rosy  deck,  and  adored  Allah  ?  So,  as  thy 
sun  rises,  friend,  over  the  humble  housetoi)s  round  about  your  home, 
shall  you  wake  many  and  many  a  day  to  duty  and  labour.     May 


538  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

the  task  have  been  honestly  done  when  the  night  comes ;  and  the 
steward  deal  kindly  with  the  labourer. 

So  two  of  Philip's  cables  cracked  and  gave  way  after  a  very 
brief  strain,  and  the  poor  fellow  held  by  nothing  now  but  tliat  won- 
derful European  Review  established  by  the  mysterious  Tregarvan. 
Actors,  a  people  of  superstitions  and  traditions,  opine  that  Heaven, 
in  some  mysterious  way,  makes  managers  for  their  benefit.  In  like 
manner,  Review  proprietors  are  sent  to  provide  the  pabulum  for  us 
men  of  letters.  With  what  complacency  did  my  wife  listen  to  the 
somewhat  long-winded  and  pompous  oratory  of  Tregarvan  !  He 
pompous  and  commonplace  1  Tregarvan  spoke  with  excellent  good 
sense.  That  wily  woman  never  showed  she  was  tired  of  his  con- 
versation. She  praised  him  to  Philip  behind  his  back,  and  would 
not  allow  a  word  in  his  disparagement.  As  a  doctor  will  punch 
your  chest,  your  liver,  your  heart,  listen  at  your  lungs,  squeeze 
your  pulse,  and  what  not,  so  this  practitioner  studied,  shampooed, 
auscultated  Tregarvan.  Of  course,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  operated 
upon.  Of  course,  he  had  no  idea  that  the  lady  was  flattering, 
wheedling,  humbugging  him ;  but  thought  that  he  was  a  very  well- 
informed  elociuent  man,  who  had  seen  and  read  a  great  deal,  and 
had  an  agreeable  method  of  imparting  his  knowledge,  and  that  the 
lady  in  question  was  a  sensible  woman,  naturally  eager  for  more 
information.  Go,  Delilah  !  I  understand  your  tricks  !  I  know 
many  another  Ompliale  in  London,  who  will  coax  Hercules  away 
from  his  club,  to  come  and  listen  to  her  wheedling  talk. 

One  great  difficulty  we  had  was  to  make  Philip  read  Tregarvan's 
own  articles  in  the  Review.  He  at  first  said  he  could  not,  or  that 
he  could  not  remember  them  :  so  that  there  was  no  use  in  reading 
tJiem.  And  Philip's  new  master  used  to  make  artful  allusions  to  his 
own  writings  in  the  course  of  conversation,  so  that  our  unwary  friend 
would  find  himself  under  examination  in  any  casual  interview  with 
Tregarvan,  whose  opinions  on  free-trade,  malt-tax,  income-tax,  designs 
of  Russia,  or  what  not,  might  be  accepted  or  denied,  but  ought  at 
least  to  be  known.  We  actually  made  Philip  get  up  his  owner's  articles. 
We  put  questions  to  him,  privily,  regarding  them — "  coached  "  him, 
according  to  the  University  phrase.  My  wife  humbugged  that 
wretched  Member  of  Parliament  in  a  way  which  makes  me  shudder, 
when  I  think  of  what  hypocrisy  the  sex  is  capable.  Those  arts 
and  dissimulations  with  which  she  M'heedles  others,  suppose  she 
exercise  them  on  me  ?  Horrible  thought !  No,  angel !  To  others 
thou  mayest  be  a  coaxing  hypocrite  ;  to  me  thou  art  all  candour. 
Other  men  may  have  been  humbugged  by  other  women  ;  but  I  am 
not  to  be  taken  in  by  that  sort  of  thing ;  and  thou  art  all  candour ! 

We  had  then  so  much  per  annum  as  editor.     We  were  paid, 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     539 

hesides,  for  our  articles.  We  had  really  a  snug  little  pension  out 
of  this  Eevieiv,  and  we  prayed  it  might  last  for  ever.  We  n)ight 
write  a  novel.  We  might  contribute  articles  to  a  daily  paper ;  get 
a  little  parliamentary  practice  as  a  barrister.  We  actually  did  get 
Philip  into  a  railway  case  or  two,  and  my  wife  must  be  coaxing 
and  hugging  solicitors'  ladies,  as  she  had  wheedled  and  coaxed 
Members  of  Parliament.  Why,  I  do  believe  my  Delilah  set  up  a 
flirtation  with  old  Bishop  Crossticks,  with  an  idea  of  getting  her 
protege  a  living :  and  though  the  lady  indignantly  repudiates  this 
charge,  will  she  be  pleased  to  explain  how  the  bishop's  sermons 
were  so  outrageously  praised  in  the  Review  ? 

Philip's  roughness  and  frankness  did  not  displease  Tregarvan, 
to  the  wonder  of  us  all,  who  trembled  lest  he  should  lose  this  as 
he  had  lost  his  former  place.  Tregarvan  had  more  country-houses 
than  one,  and  at  these  not  only  was  the  editor  of  the  Review  made 
welcome,  l)ut  the  editor's  wife  and  children,  whom  Tregarvan's  wife 
took  into  especial  regard.  In  London,  Lady  Mary  had  assemblies 
where  our  little  friend  Charlotte  made  her  appearance ;  and  half-a- 
dozen  times  in  the  course  of  the  season  the  wealthy  Cornish  gentle- 
man feasted  his  retainers  of  the  Review.  His  wine  was  excellent 
and  old  ;  his  jokes  were  old,  too  ;  his  table  pompous,  grave,  plentiful. 
If  Philip  was  to  eat  the  bread  of  dependence,  the  loaf  was  here 
very  kindly  prepared  for  him ;  and  he  ate  it  humbly,  and  with  not 
too  much  grumbling.  This  diet  chokes  some  i)roud  stomachs  and 
disagrees  with  them ;  but  Philip  was  very  humble  now,  and  of  a 
nature  grateful  for  kindness.  He  is  one  who  requires  tlie  help  of 
friends,  and  can  accept  benefits  without  losing  independence — not 
all  men's  gifts,  but  some  men's,  whom  he  repays  not  only  with  coin, 
but  with  an  inmiense  affection  and  gratitude.  How  that  man  did 
laugh  at  my  witticisms  !  How  he  worshipped  the  ground  on  which 
my  wife  walked  !  He  elected  himself  our  champion.  He  quarrelled 
with  other  people,  who  found  fault  with  our  characters,  or  would 
not  see  our  perfections.  There  was  something  affecting  in  the  way 
in  which  this  big  man  took  the  humble  place.  We  could  do  no 
wrong  in  his  eyes ;  and  woe  betide  the  man  who  spoke  disparagingly 
of  us  in  his  presence  ! 

One  day,  at  his  patron's  table,  Philii)  exercised  his  valour  and 
cliampionship  in  our  behalf  by  defending  us  against  the  evil  speaking 
of  that  Mr.  Trail,  who  has  been  mentioned  before  as  a  gentleman 
difficult  to  please,  and  credulous  of  ill  regarding  his  neighbour.  The 
talk  hai)peiied  to  fall  ui)on  the  character  of  the  reader's  most  humble 
servant,  and  Trail,  as  may  l)e  imagined,  spared  me  no  more  than  the 
rest  of  mankind.  Would  you  lik(>  to  be  liked  by  all  ])coi>lc  ?  That 
would  be  a  reason  why  Trail  should  hate  you.     ^^'ere  you  an  angel 


540  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

fresh  dropped  from  the  skies,  he  would  espy  dirt  on  your  robe,  and 
a  black  feather  or  two  in  your  wing.  As  for  me,  I  know  I  am  not 
angelical  at  all ;  and  in  walking  my  native  earth,  can't  help  a  little 
mud  on  my  trousers.  Well :  Mr.  Trail  began  to  paint  my  portrait, 
laying  on  those  dark  shadows  which  that  Avell-known  master  is  in 
the  habit  of  employing.  I  was  a  parasite  of  the  nobility ;  I  was 
a  heartless  sycophant,  housebreaker,  drunkard,  murderer,  returned 
convict,  &s.  &c.  With  a  little  imagination,  Mrs.  Candour  can  fill  up 
the  outline,  and  arrange  the  colours  so  as  to  suit  her  amiable  fancy. 

Philip  had  come  late  to  dinner ; — of  this  fault,  I  must  confess, 
lie  is  guilty  only  too  often.  The  company  were  at  table;  he  took  the 
only  place  vacant,  and  this  happened  to  be  at  the  side  of  Mr.  Trail. 
On  Trail's  other  side  was  a  portly  individual,  of  a  healthy  and  rosy 
countenance  and  voluminous  white  waistcoat,  to  whom  Trail  directed 
much  of  his  amiable  talk,  and  whom  he  addressed  once  or  twice 
as  Sir  John.  Once  or  twice  already  we  have  seen  how  Philip  has 
quarrelled  at  table.  He  cried  tnea  culpa  loudly  and  honestly  enough. 
He  made  vows  of  reform  in  this  particular.  He  succeeded,  dearly 
beloved  brethren,  not  much  worse  or  better  than  you  and  I  do,  who 
confess  our  fixults,  and  go  on  promising  to  improve,  and  stumbling 
and  picking  ourselves  up  every  day.  The  pavement  of  life  is 
strewed  with  orange-peel ;  and  who  has  not  slipped  on  the  flags  1 

"  He  is  the  most  conceited  man  in  London," — Trail  was  going  on, 
"  and  one  of  the  most  worldly.  He  will  throw  over  a  colonel  to  dine 
with  a  general.  He  wouldn't  throw  over  you  two  baronets — he  is  a 
great  deal  too  shrewd  a  fellow  for  that.  He  wouldn't  give  you  up, 
perhaps,  to  dine  with  a  lord  ;  but  any  ordinary  baronet  he  woidd." 

"  And  why  not  us  as  well  as  the  rest  1 "  asks  Tregarvan,  who 
seemed  amused  at  the  speaker's  chatter. 

"Because  you  are  not  like  common  baronets  at  all.  Because 
your  estates  are  a  great  deal  too  large.  Because,  I  suppose,  you 
might  either  of  you  go  to  the  Upper  House  any  day.  Because, 
as  an  author,  he  may  be  supposed  to  be  afraid  of  a  certain  Revieiv,'" 
cries  Trail,  with  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Trail  is  speaking  of  a  friend  of  yours,"  said  the  host,  nodding 
and  smiling,  to  the  new  comer. 

"Very  lucky  for  my  friend,"  growls  Philip,  and  eats  his  soup 
in  silence. 

"  By  the  way,  that  article  of  his  on  Madame  de  Sdvign^  is  poor 
stuff.  No  knowledge  of  the  period.  Three  gross  blunders  in 
French.  A  man  can't  write  of  French  society  unless  he  has  lived 
in  French  society.  What  does  Pendennis  know  of  it]  A  man 
who  makes  blunders  like  those  can't  understand  French.  A  man 
who  can't  speak  French  can't  get  on  in  French  society.     Therefore 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      541 

he  can't  write  about  Freiicli  society.  All  these  propositions  are 
clear  enough.  Thank  you.  Dry  champagne,  if  you  please.  He  is 
enormously  overrated,  I  tell  you ;  and  so  is  his  wife.  They  used 
to  put  her  forward  as  a  beauty  :  and  she  is  only  a  doAvdy  woman 
out  of  a  nursery.      She  has  no  style  about  her." 

"She  is  only  one  of  the  best  women  in  the  world,"  Mr.  Firmin 
called  out,  turning  very  red  ;  and  hereupon  entered  into  a  defence  of 
our  characters,  and  jjronounced  a  eidogium  upon  both  and  each  of  us, 
in  which  I  hope  tlicre  was  some  little  truth.  However,  he  sixike 
with  great  enthusiasm,  and  Mr.  Trail  found  himself  in  a  minority. 

"  You  are  right  to  stand  up  for  your  friends,  Firmin  ! "  cried 
the  host.      "  Let  me  introduce  you  to " 

"Let  me  introduce  myself,"  said  the  gentleman  on  the  other 
side  of  Mr.  Trail.  "Mr.  Firmin,  you  and  I  are  kinsmen,^!  am 
Sir  John  Ringwood."  And  Sir  John  reached  a  hand  to  Philip 
across  Trail's  chair.  They  talked  a  great  deal  together  in  the 
course  of  the  evening  :  and  wlien  Mr.  Trail  found  that  the  great 
county  gentleman  was  friendly  and  familiar  with  Philij),  and  claimed 
a  relationship  witli  him,  his  manner  towards  Firmin  altered.  He 
I)ronounced  afterwards  a  warm  eulogy  upon  Sir  John  for  his  frank- 
ness and  good-nature  in  recognising  his  unfortunate  relative,  and 
charitably  said,  "  Philip  might  not  be  like  the  Doctor,  and  could 
not  help  having  a  rogue  for  a  father."  In  former  days.  Trail  had 
eaten  and  drunken  freely  at  that  rogue's  table.  But  we  must  have 
truth,  you  know,  before  all  things  :  and  if  your  own  brother  has  com- 
mitted a  sin,  common  justice  requires  that  you  should  stone  him. 

In  former  days,  and  not  long  after  Lord  Ringwood's  death, 
Philip  had  left  his  card  at  this  kinsman's  door,  and  Sir  John's 
butler,  driving  in  his  master's  brougham,  had  left  a  card  upon 
Philip,  who  was  not  over  well  pleased  by  this  acknowledgment  of 
his  civility,  and,  in  fact,  emj)loyed  abusive  epithets  when  he  sjioke 
of  the  transaction.  But  wlien  the  two  gentlemen  actually  met, 
their  intercourse  was  kindly  and  pleasant  enough.  Sir  John  listened 
to  his  relative's  talk — and,  it  appears,  Philip  conii)orted  himself 
with  his  usual  free  and  easy  manner — with  interest  and  curiosity ; 
and  owned  afterwards  that  evil  tongues  had  i)reviously  been  busy 
with  the  youjig  man's  cliaracter,  and  that  slander  and  untruth  had 
been  spoken  regarding  him.  In  this  respect,  if  Philip  is  worse  off" 
than  his  neighbours,  I  can  only  say  his  neighboui'S  are  fortunate. 

Two  days  after  the  meeting  of  the  cousins,  the  tranquillity  of 
Thornhaugh  Street  was  disturbed  by  the  appearance  of  a  magnifi- 
cent yellow  chariot,  with  crests,  hammercloths,  a  bewigged  coach- 
man, and  a  powdered  footman.  Betsy,  the  mirse,  who  was  going  to 
take  baby  out  for  a  walk,  encountered  this  giant  on  the  threshold 


542 


THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 


of  Mrs.  Brandon's  door  ■  and  a  lady  within  the  chariot  delivered 
three  cards  to  the  tall  menial,  who  transferred  them  to  Betsy. 
And  Betsy  persisted  in  saying  that  the  lady  in  the  carriage  admired 
baby  very  much,  and  asked  its  age,  at  which  baby's  manmia  was 
nat  in  the  least  surprised.  In  due  course,  an  invitation  to  dinner 
followed,  and  our  friends  became  accjuainted  with  their  kinsfolk. 

If  you  have  a  good  memory  for  pedigrees— and  in  my  youthful 
time  every  man  de  bonne  maison  studied  genealogies,  and  had  his 
English  families  in  his  memory — you  know  that  this  Sir  John 
Ringwood,  who  succeeded  to  tne  principal  portion  of  the  estates, 
but  not  to  the  titles  of  the  late  Earl,  was  descended  from  a  mutual 
ancestor,  a  Sir  John,  whose  elder  son  was  ennobled  (temp.  Geo.  I.), 
whilst  the  second  son,  following  the  legal  profession,  became  a 
judge,  and  had  a  son,  who  became  a  baronet,  and  who  begat  that 
present  Sir  John  who  has  just  been  shaking  hands  with  Philip 
across  Trail's  back.  Thus  the  two  men  were  cousins ;  and  in  right 
of  the  heiress,  his  poor  mother,  Philip  might  quarter  the  Ringwood 
arms  on  his  carriage,  whenever  he  drove  out.  These,  you  know, 
are,  argent,  a  dexter  sinople  on  a  fesse  wavy  of  the  first — or  pick 
out,  my  dear  friend,  any  coat  you  like  out  of  the  whole  heraldic 
wardrobe,  and  accommodate  it  to  our  friend  Firmin.* 

*  Copied,  by  permission  of  P.  Firmin,  Esq. ,  from  the  Genealogical  Tree  in  his 
possession. 

Sir  J.  Ringwood,  Bart., 

of  Wingate  and  Whipham. 

b.  1649  ;  ob.  1725. 

I 


Sir  J . ,  Bart. , 

1st  Baron  Ringwood. 

ob.  1770. 


John,  2nd  Baron, 

created  Earl  of  Ringwood 

and  Visct.  Cinqbars. 

Charles,  Visct.  Cinqbars. 
b.  1802;  ob.  1824. 


Philip, 

a  Colonel  in  the  Army. 

ob.  1803. 


I. 
Maria, 
b.  1801. 
md  Talbot  Twy.sden, 
and  had  issue. 


Sir  Philip,  Knt., 

a  Baron  of  the 

Exchequer. 


Sir  John,  Bart., 
of  the  Hays. 


Sir  John  of  the  Hays, 

and  now  of 

Wingate  and  Whipham, 

has  issue, 


Louisa,  i 

b.  1802,  Oliver,  Philip, 

m'i  G.  B.  Firmin,  Esq.,  M.D.  Hampden,  Franklin, 

j  and  daughters. 

Philip,  b.  1825, 

subject  of  the 

present  Memoir. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     5i;; 

When  be  was  a  young  man  at  college,  Philip  had  dabbled  a 
little  in  this  queer  science  of  heraldry,  and  used  to  try  and  believe 
the  legends  about  his  ancestry,  which  his  fond  mother  imparted  to 
him.  He  had  a  great  book-plate  made  for  himself,  with  a  pro- 
digious number  of  quarterings,  and  could  recite  the  alliances  by 
which  such  and  such  a  quartering  came  into  his  shield.  His  father 
rather  confirmed  these  histories,  and  spoke  of  them  and  of  his  wife's 
noble  family  with  much  respect :  and  Philip,  artlessly  whispering 
to  a  vulgar  boy  at  school  that  he  was  descended  from  King  John, 
was  thrashed  very  unkindly  by  the  vulgar  upper  boy,  and  nick- 
named King  John  for  many  a  long  day  after.  I  daresay  many  other 
gentlemen  who  profess  to  trace  their  descent  from  ancient  kings  have 
no  better  or  worse  authority  for  tlieir  pedigree  than  friend  Philip. 

When  our  friend  paid  his  second  visit  to  Sir  John  Ringwood, 
he  was  introduced  to  his  kinsman's  library ;  a  great  family  tree 
hung  over  the  mantelpiece,  surrounded  by  a  whole  gallery  of  defunct 
Ringwoods,  of  whom  the  Baronet  was  now  the  representative.  He 
quoted  to  Philip  the  hackneyed  old  Ovidian  lines  (some  score  of 
years  ago  a  great  deal  of  that  old  coin  was  current  in  conversation). 
As  for  family,  he  said,  and  ancestors,  and  what  we  have  not  done 
ourselves,  these  things  we  can  hardly  call  ours.  Sir  Jolm  gave 
Philip  to  understand  that  he  was  a  staunch  Liberal.  Sir  John  was 
for  going  with  the  age.  Sir  John  had  fired  a  sliot  from  the  Paris 
barricades.  Sir  John  was  for  the  riglits  of  man  everywhere  all  over 
the  world.  He  iiad  jjictures  uf  Franklin,  Lafayette,  Washington, 
and  the  First  Consul  Buonaparte,  on  his  walls  along  with  his 
ancestors.  He  had  lithograjjh  copies  of  Magna  Charta,  the  Declara- 
tion of  American  Indejjendence,  and  the  Signatures  to  the  Death 
of  Charles  I.  He  did  not  scrujjle  to  own  his  preference  for 
republican  institutions.  He  wished  to  know  what  right  had  any 
man — the  late  Lord  liingwood,  for  example — to  sit  in  an  liereditary 
House  of  Peers  and  legislate  over  him?  That  lord  had  had  a  son, 
Cintjbars,  who  died  many  years  before,  a  victim  of  his  own  follies 
and  debaucheries.  Had  Lord  Cinqbars  survived  his  father,  he 
would  now  be  sitting  an  Earl  in  the  House  of  Peers — the  most 
ignorant  young  man,  the  most  unprincipled  young  man,  reckless, 
dissolute,  of  the  feeblest  intellect  and  the  worst  life.  Well,  had 
he  lived  and  inherited  the  Ringwood  j>i'0])('rty,  that  creature  would 
have  been  an  earl  :  whereas  he.  Sir  John,  his  su})erior  in  morals, 
in  chai-acter,  in  intellect,  his  equal  in  poirit  of  liiith  (foi-  had  they 
not  both  a  common  ancestor?)  was  Sir  John  still.  The  incciualities 
in  men's  chances  in  life  were  monstrous  and  ridiculous.  He  was 
determined,  henceforth,  to  look  at  a  man  for  himself  alone,  and  not 
esteem  him  for  any  of  the  absurd  caprices  of  fortune. 


544  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

As  tlie  icpul)lican  was  talking  to  liis  relative,  a  servant  came 
into  the  room  and  whisjiered  to  his  master  that  the  plumber  had 
come  with  his  bill  as  by  appointment ;  upon  wliich  Sir  John  rose 
up  in  a  fury,  asked  the  servant  how  he  dared  to  disturb  him,  and 
bade  him  tell  the  plumber  to  go  to  the  lowest  depths  of  Tartarus. 
Nothing  could  equal  the  insolence  and  rapacity  of  tradesmen,  he 
said,  except  the  insolence  and  idleness  of  servants ;  and  he  called 
this  one  back,  and  asked  him  how  he  dared  to  leave  the  fire  in 
that  state? — stormed  and  raged  at  him  with  a  volubility  which 
astonished  his  new  acquaintance ;  and,  the  man  being  gone,  resumed 
his  previous  subject  of  conversation,  viz.,  natural  equality  and  the 
outrageous  injustice  of  the  present  social  system.  After  talking 
for  half-an-hour,  during  which  Philip  found  that  he  himself  could 
hardly  find  au  opportunity  of  uttering  a  word,  Sir  John  took  out 
his  watch,  and  got  up  from  his  chair ;  at  which  hint  Philip  too 
rose,  not  soi-ry  to  bring  the  interview  to  an  end.  And  herewith 
Sir  Jolm  accompanied  his  kinsman  into  the  hall,  and  to  the  street- 
door,  before  which  the  Baronet's  groom  was  riding,  leading  his 
master's  horse.  And  Philip  heard  the  Baronet  using  violent 
language  to  the  groom,  as  he  had  done  to  the  servant  within  doors. 
Why,  tlie  army  in  Flanders  did  not  swear  more  terribly  than  this 
admirer  of  republican  institutions  and  advocate  of  the  rights  of 
man. 

Philip  was  not  allowed  to  go  away  without  appointing  a  day 
when  he  and  his  w'ife  would  partake  of  their  kinsman's  hospitality. 
On  this  occasion,  Mrs.  Philip  comported  herself  with  so  much  grace 
and  simplicity,  that  Sir  John  and  Lady  Ringwood  pronounced  her 
to  be  a  very  pleasing  and  ladylike  person  ;  and  I  daresay  wondered 
how  a  person  in  her  rank  of  life  could  have  acquired  manners  that 
were  so  refined  and  agreeable.  Lady  Ringwood  asked  after  the 
child  which  she  had  seen,  praised  its  beauty ;  of  course,  won  the 
mother's  heart,  and  ther'eby  caused  her  to  speak  with  perhaps  more 
freedom  than  she  would  otherwise  have  felt  at  a  first  interview. 
Mrs.  Philip  has  a  dainty  touch  on  the  piano,  and  a  sweet  singing 
voice  that  is  charmingly  true  and  neat.  She  performed  after  dinner 
some  of  the  songs  of  iier  little  repertoire,  and  fjleased  her  audience. 
Lady  Ringwood  loved  good  music,  and  was  herself  a  fine  performer 
of  the  ancient  school,  when  she  played  Haydn  and  Mozart  under 
the  tuition  of  good  old  Sir  George  Thrum.  Tlie  tall  and  handsome 
beneficed  clergyman  who  acted  as  major-domo  of  Sir  John's  estab- 
lishment, placed  a  parcel  in  the  carriage  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Philip 
took  their  leave,  and  announced  with  much  respectful  deference  that 
the  cab  was  paid.  Our  frieiids  no  doulit  would  have  preferred  to 
dispense  with  this  ceremony  ;  but  it  is  ill  looking  even  a  gift  cab- 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      545 

horse  in  the  moutli,  and  so  Philip  was  a  gainer  of  some  two  shillings 
by  his  kinsman's  liberalitj'. 

When  Charlotte  came  to  open  the  parcel  which  major-domo, 
with  his  lady's  comi)liments,  had  placed  in  the  cab,  I  fear  she  did 
not  exhibit  that  elation  which  we  ought  to  feel  for  the  favours  of 
our  friends.  A  couple  of  little  frocks,  of  the  cut  of  George  IV., 
some  little  red  shoes  of  the  same  period,  some  crumpled  sashes,  and 
other  small  articles  of  wearing-apparel,  by  her  Ladyship's  order  by 
her  Ladyship's  lady's-maid  ;  and  Lady  Ringwood  kissing  Chailotte 
at  her  departure,  told  her  that  she  had  caused  this  little  packet 
to  be  put  away  for  lier.  "  H'm,"  says  Philip,  only  half  phrased. 
"  Suppose  Sir  John  had  told  his  butler  to  put  u])  one  of  his  blue 
coats  and  brass  buttons  for  me,  as  well  as  ])ay  the  cab  ? " 

"  If  it  was  meant  in  kindness,  Philij),  we  must  not  be  angry," 
pleaded  Philip's  wife  : — "and  I  am  sure  if  you  had  heard  her  and 
the  Miss  Ringwoods  sjjcak  of  baby,  you  Mould  like  them,  as  I 
intend  to  do." 

But  Mrs.  Philip  never  put  those  mouldy  old  red  shoes  upon 
baby ;  and  as  for  the  little  frocks,  cliildren's  fiocks  are  made  so 
much  fuller  now  that  Lady  RingM'ood's  presents  did  not  answer  at 
all.  Charlotte  managed  to  furbish  up  a  sash,  and  a  pair  of  epaulets 
for  her  child — epaulets  are  they  called  1  Shoulder-knots — what 
you  will,  ladies  ;  and  with  these  ornaments  Miss  Firmin  was  pre- 
sented to  Lady  Ringwood  and  some  of  her  family. 

The  goodwill  of  these  new-found  relatives  of  Philip's  was  labori- 
ous, was  evident,  and  yet  I  nuist  .say  Avas  not  altogether  agreeable. 
At  the  first  period  of  their  intercourse — for  this,  too,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  came  to  an  end,  or  presently  sufl'ered  interruption — tokens  of 
affection  in  the  sha|)e  of  farm  produce,  country  Initter  and  poultry, 
and  actual  butcher's  meat,  came  from  Berkeley  Square  to  Thornhaugh 
Street.  The  Duke  of  Double-glo'ster  I  know  is  much  richer  than 
you  are  ;  but  if  he  were  to  offer  to  make  you  a  present  of  half-a- 
crown,  I  doubt  whether  you  would  be  quite  pleased.  And  so  with 
Philip  and  his  relatives.  A  hamper  lirought  in  the  brougham,  con- 
taining hot-house  grapes  and  country  butter,  is  very  well,  but  a  leg 
of  mutton  I  own  was  a  gift  that  was  rather  tough  to  swallow.  It 
vus  tough.  That  point  we  ascertained  and  established  amidst  roars 
of  laughter  one  day  when  we  dined  witli  our  friends.  Did  Lady 
Ringwood  send  a  sack  of  turnips  in  tlie  brougham  too'  In  a  word, 
we  ate  Sir  Jolin's  nuitton,  and  we  lauglied  at  him,  ami  lie  sure 
many  a  man  lias  done  the  same  by  you  and  me.  Last  Friday,  for 
instance,  as  Jones  and  Brown  go  away  after  dining  with  your  humble 
servant:  "Did  yon  ever  see  such  ]irofiisi()n  ami  extravagance?" 
asks  Brown.  "Profusion  and  cxtiavauancc  ! '"  cries  Jones,  that 
11  2  m 


5i6  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

well-known  epicure.  "  I  never  saw  anything  so  shabby  in  my 
life.  What  does  the  fellow  mean  by  asking  me  to  such  a  dinner  1 " 
"True,"  says  the  other,  "it  rvas  an  abominable  dinner,  Jones,  as 
you  justly  say ;  but  it  was  very  profuse  in  him  to  give  it.  Don't 
you  see  1  "  and  so  both  our  good  friends  are  agreed. 

Ere  many  days  were  over  the  great  yellow  chariot  and  its 
powdered  attendants  again  made  their  appearance  before  Mrs. 
Brandon's  modest  door  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  Lady  Ringwood 
and  two  daughters  descended  from  the  carriage  and  made  their  way 
to  Mr.  Pliilip's  apartments  ou  tlie  second  floor,  just  as  that  worthy 
gentleman  was  sitting  down  to  dinner  with  his  wife.  Lady  Ring- 
wood,  bent  upon  being  gracious,  was  in  ecstasies  with  everything 
she  saw — a  clean  house — a  nice  little  maid — pretty  picturesque 
rooms — odd  rooms — and  what  charming  pictures  !  Several  of 
these  were  the  work  of  the  fond  pencil  of  poor  J.  J.,  who,  as  has 
been  told,  had  painted  Philip's  beard  and  Charlotte's  eyebrow, 
and  Charlotte's  baby  a  thousand  and  a  thousand  times.  "May 
we  come  in  ?  Are  we  disturbing  you  1  What  dear  little  bits  of 
china !  What  a  beautiful  mug,  Mr.  Firmin  ! "  This  was  poor 
J.  J.'s  present  to  his  god-daughter.  "  How  nice  the  luncheon 
looks  !  Dinner,  is  it  1  How  pleasant  to  dine  at  this  hour  ! " 
The  ladies  were  determined  to  be  charmed  with  everything  round 
about  them. 

"  We  are  dining  on  your  poultry.  May  we  offer  some  to  you 
and  Miss  Ringwood  1 "  says  the  master  of  the  house. 

"  Why  don't  you  dine  in  the  dining-room?  Why  do  you  dine 
in  a  beilroom  1 "  asks  Franklin  Ringwood,  the  interesting  young  son 
of  the  Baron  of  Ringwood. 

"  Somebody  else  lives  in  the  parlour,"  says  Mrs.  Philip.  On 
which  the  boy  remarks,  "  We  have  two  dining-rooms  in  Bei'keley 
Square.  I  mean  for  us,  besides  papa's  study,  which  I  mustn't  go 
into.     And  the  servants  have  two  dining-rooms  and " 

"  Hush  ! "  here  cries  mamma,  with  the  usual  remark  regarding 
the  beauty  of  silence  in  little  boys. 

But  Franklin  persists  in  spite  of  the  "Hushes  !  "  "And  so  we 
have  at  Ringwood ;  and  at  Whipliam  there's  ever  so  many  dining- 
I'ooms — ever  so  many — and  I  like  Whipham  a  great  deal  better 
than  Ringwood,  because  my  pony  is  at  Whipham.  You  have  not 
got  a  jjony.     You  are  too  poor." 

"  Franklin  ! " 

"  You  said  he  was  too  poor ;  and  you  would  not  have  had 
chickens  if  we  had  not  given  them  to  you.  Mamma,  you  know 
you  said  they  were  very  poor,  and  would  like  them." 

And  here  mamma  looked   red,  and   I   daresay  Philip's  cheeks 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     547 

and  ears  tingled,  and  for  once  Mrs.  Philip  was  thankful  at 
hearing  lier  baby  cry,  for  it  gave  her  a  pretext  for  leaving  the 
room  and  flying  to  the  nursery,  whither  the  other  two  ladies 
arcom])aiiie(l  her. 

Meanwhile  Master  Franklin  wont  on  with  his  artless  conversa- 
tion. "  Mr.  Philip,  wliy  do  tliey  say  you  are  wicked  1  You  do  not 
look  wicked ;  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Philij)  does  ni)t  look  wicked — 
she  looks  very  good." 

"Who  says  I  am  wicked?"  asks  Mr.  Firinin  of  his  candid 
young  relative. 

"  Oil,  evei-  so  many  !  Cousin  Ringwood  says  so  ;  and  Blanclie 
says  so ;  and  Woolcomb  says  so ;  only  I  don't  like  him,  he's  so 
very  brt)wn.  And  when  they  Jieard  you  had  been  to  dinner, 
'  Has  that  beast  been  here  1 '  Ringwood  says.  And  I  don't  like 
him  a  bit.  But  I  like  you,  at  least  I  think  I  do.  You  only  have 
oranges  for  dessert.  We  always  have  lots  of  things  for  dessert 
at  home.  You  don't,  I  supfjose,  because  you've  got  no  money — 
only  a  very  little." 

"  Well :  I  have  got  only  a  very  little,"  says  Philip. 

"  I  have  some — ever  so  much.  And  I'll  buy  something  for 
your  wife ;  and  I  shall  like  to  have  you  better  at  home  than 
Blanche,  and  Ringwood,  and  that  Woolcomb ;  and  thej^  never  give 
me  anything.  You  can't,  you  know  ;  because  you  are  so  very  poor 
— you  are ;  but  we'll  often  send  you  things,  I  daresay.  And  I'll 
have  an  orange,  please,  thank  you.  And  there's  a  chap  at  our 
school,  and  his  name  is  Suckling,  and  he  ate  eighteen  oranges,  and 
wouldn't  give  one  away  to  anybody.  Wasn't  he  a  greedy  pigl 
And  I  have  wine  with  my  oranges — I  do :  a  glass  of  wine — thank 
you.  That's  jolly.  But  you  don't  have  it  often,  I  suppose,  becaiuse 
you're  so  vei'j^  poor." 

I  am  glad  Philip's  infant  could  not  understand,  being  yet  of  too 
tender  age,  the  compliments  which  Lady  Ringwood  and  her  daughter 
passed  ui)on  her.  As  it  was,  tlie  compliments  charmed  tiie  mother, 
for  wliom  indeed  they  were  intended,  and  did  not  inflame  the 
unconscious  baby's  vanity. 

What  would  the  ]ioHte  mamma  and  sister  have  said,  if  they 
liad  heard  that  unlucky  Frankliifs  ])rattle'?  Tiie  lioy's  simplicity 
amused  his  tall  cousin.  "Yes,"  says  Phili]*,  "we  are  very  poor, 
but  we  are  very  happy,  and  don't  mind— that's  the  truth." 

"  Mademoiselle,  tliat's  the  German  governess,  said  she  wondered 
how  you  could  live  at  all ;  and  I  don't  think  you  could  if  you  ate 
as  nuich  as  she  did.  You  should  see  lier  eat :  she  is  such  a  onei'  at 
eating.  Fred,  my  brother,  tliat's  the  one  who  is  at  college,  one  day 
tried   to  see  how  much  Mademoiselle  Walltisch  could  eat,  and  she 


548  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

had  twice  of  soup,  and  then  she  said  sivoplcvj ;  and  then  twice  of 
fish,  and  she  said  sivojtlay  for  more  ;  and  then  she  had  roast-mutton 
— no,  I  think,  roast-beef  it  was  ;  and  she  eats  the  peas  witli  her 
knife ;  and  then  she  had  raspberry-jam  pudding,  and  ever  so  much 

beei-,  and  tlien "     But  what  came  then  we  never  shall  know  ; 

because  while  young  Franklin  was  choking  with  laughter  (accom- 
panied with  a  large  piece  of  orange)  at  the  ridiculous  recollection  of 
Miss  Wallfisch's  appetite,  his  mamma  and  sister  came  downstairs 
from  Charlotte's  nursery,  and  brought  the  dear  boy's  conversation 
to  an  end.  The  ladies  chose  to  go  home,  delighted  with  Philip, 
baby,  Charlotte.  Everything  was  so  proper.  Everything  was  so 
nice.  Mrs.  Firmin  was  so  ladylike.  The  fine  ladies  watched  her, 
and  her  behaviour,  with  that  curiosity  which  the  Brobdingnag  ladies 
displayed  when  they  held  uj)  little  Gulliver  on  tlieir  palms,  and  saw 
him  bow,  smile,  dance,  draw  his  sword,  and  take  off  his  hat,  just 
like  a  man. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

IN   IVHICH   THE  DRAICING-ROOMS  ARE  NOT  FURNISHED 
AFTER  ALL 

WE  rannot  expect  to  l)e  loved  l)y  a  relative  whom  we  have 
kno(;ke(l  into  an  illuuiinated  pond,  and  whose  coat-tails, 
pantaloons,  nether  limbs,  and  best  feelings  we  have 
lacerated  with  ill  treatment  and  broken  glass.  A  man  whom  you 
have  so  treated  behin<l  his  back  will  not  be  sparing  of  his  punisli- 
ment  behind  yours.  Of  course  all  the  Twysdens,  mole  and  female, 
and  Woolcomb,  the  dusky  husband  of  Philip's  former  love,  hated 
and  feared,  and  maligned  him  ;  and  were  in  the  habit  of  speakijig 
of  him  as  a  truculent  and  reckless  savage  and  monster,  coarse  and 
brutal  in  his  language  and  behaviour,  ragged,  dirty,  and  reckless  in 
his  personal  appearance ;  reeking  with  smoke,  perpetually  reeling  in 
drink,  indulging  in  oaths,  actions,  laughter  which  rendered  him  in- 
tolerable in  civilised  society.  The  Twysdens,  during  Philip's  absence 
abroad,  had  been  very  respectful  and  assiduous  in  courting  the  new 
head  of  the  Kingwood  family.  They  had  flattered  Sir  John,  and 
paid  court  to  my  lady.  They  had  been  welcomed  at  Sir  John's 
houses  in  town  and  country.  They  had  ado))ted  his  politics  in  a 
great  measure,  as  they  had  adopted  the  politics  of  the  deceased  ])eer. 
They  had  never  lost  an  opportunity  of  abusing  poor  Philip  and  of 
ingratiating  themselves.  They  had  never  refused  any  invitation 
from  Sir  John  in  town  or  comitry,  and  had  ended  l\y  utterly  boring 
him  and  Lady  Ringwood  and  the  Ringwood  fimily  in  general. 
Lady  Ringwood  learned  s(unewhcre  how  pitilessly  Mrs.  "Woolcoml) 
had  jilted  her  cousin  when  a  richer  suitor  a])i)eared  in  the  jierson 
of  the  West  Indian.  Then  news  came  how  Philip  had  administered 
a  beating  to  Woolcomb,  to  young  Twysden,  to  a  dozen  who  set  on 
him.  The  early  prejudices  began  to  pass  away.  A  friend  or  two 
of  Philip's  told  Ringwood  how  he  was  mistaken  in  the  young  man, 
and  painted  a  y)ortrait  of  him  in  colours  nmcli  nioic  favourable  than 
those  which  liis  kinsfolk  emjdoyed.  Indeed,  dcnr  relations,  if  the 
public  wants  to  know  our  little  faults  and  errors,  I  think  I  know 
who  will  not  grudge  the  rctpusite  information.  Dear  Aunt  Candour, 
are  you  not  still  alive,  and  don't  you  know  what  wc  had  for  dinner 


550  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

yesterday,  and  the  amount  (monstrous  extravagance  !)  of  the  washer- 
woman's bill  1 

Well,  the  Twysden  family  so  bespattered  poor  Philip  with 
abuse,  and  represented  him  as  a  monster  of  such  hideous  mien,  that 
no  wonder  tlie  Ringwoods  avoided  him.  Then  they  began  to  grow 
utterly  sick  and  tired  of  his  detractors.  And  then  Sir  John,  happen- 
ing to  talk  with  his  brother  Member  of  Parliament,  Tregarvan,  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  heard  quite  a  different  story  regarding  our 
friend  to  that  with  which  the  Twysdens  had  regaled  him,  and,  witli 
no  little  surprise  on  Sir  John's  part,  was  told  by  Tregarvan  how 
honest,  rough,  worthy,  affectionate,  and  gentle  this  poor  maligned 
fellow  was,  how  he  had  been  sinned  against  by  his  wretch  of  a 
father,  whom  he  had  forgiven  and  actually  helped  out  of  his  wretched 
means,  and  how  he  was  making  a  brave  battle  against  poverty,  and 
had  a  sweet  little  loving  wife  and  child,  whom  every  kind  heart 
would  willingly  strive  to  help.  Because  people  are  rich  they  are 
not  of  necessity  ogres.  Because  they  are  born  gentlemen  and  ladies 
of  good  degree,  are  in  easy  circumstances,  and  have  a  generous  educa- 
tion, it  does  not  follow  that  they  are  heartless  and  will  turn  their 
back  on  a  friend.  Mot  qui  voiis  j)arle — I  have  been  in  a  great 
strait  of  sickness  near  to  death,  and  the  friends  who  came  to  help 
me  with  every  comfort,  succour,  sympathy  were  actually  gentlemen, 
who  lived  in  good  houses,  and  had  a  good  education.  They  didn't 
turn  away  because  I  was  sick,  or  fly  from  me  because  they  thought 
I  was  poor ;  on  the  contrary,  hand,  purse,  succour,  sympathy  were 
ready,  and  praise  be  to  Heaven.  And  so  too  did  Philip  find  help 
when  he  needed  it,  and  succour  when  he  was  in  poverty.  Tregar- 
van, we  will  own,  was  a  pompous  little  man,  his  House  of  Commons 
speeches  were  dull,  and  his  written  documents  awfully  slow  ;  but 
he  had  a  kind  heart :  he  was  touched  by  that  picture  which  Laura 
drew  of  the  young  man's  poverty,  and  honesty,  and  simple  hope- 
fulness in  the  midst  of  hard  times :  and  we  have  seen  how  the 
European  Review  was  thus  entrusted  to  Mr.  Philip's  management. 
Then  some  artful  friends  of  Philip's  determined  that  he  should  be 
reconciled  to  his  relations,  who  were  well  to  do  in  the  world,  and 
might  serve  him.  And  I  wish,  dear  reader,  that  your  respectal)Ie 
relatives  and  mine  would  bear  this  little  paragraph  in  mind  and 
leave  us  both  handsome  legacies.  Then  Tregarvan  spoke  to  Sir 
John  Ringwood,  and  that  meeting  was  brought  about,  where,  for 
once  at  least,  Mr.  Philip  quarrelled  with  nobody. 

And  now  came  another  little  piece  of  good  luck,  which,  I 
suppose,  must  be  attributed  to  the  same  kind  friend  who  had  been 
scheming  for  Philip's  l)enefit,  and  who  is  never  so  happy  as  when 
her  little  plots  for  her  friends'  benefit  can  be  made  to  succeed.    Yes  : 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     551 

when  that  arch-jobber — don't  tell  me ; — I  never  knew  a  woman 
worth  a  pin  who  wasn't — when  that  arch-jobber,  I  say,  has  achieved 
a  job  by  which  some  friend  is  made  happy,  her  eyes  and  cheeks 
brighten  with  triumph.  Whether  she  has  put  a  sick  man  into  a 
hospital,  or  got  a  poor  woman  a  family's  washing,  or  made  a  sinner 
repent  and  return  to  wife,  husband,  or  what  not,  that  woman  goes 
off  and  pays  her  thanks,  where  thanks  are  due,  with  such  fervour, 
with  such  lightsomeness,  with  such  liapi)iness,  that  I  assure  you  she 
is  a  sight  to  beliold.  Hush  !  When  one  sinner  is  saved,  who 
are  gladl  Some  of  us  know  a  woman  or  two  pure  as  angels — 
know,  and  are  thankful. 

When  the  person  about  whom  I  have  been  prattling  has  one  of 
her  benevolent  jobs  in  hand,  or  has  completed  it,  there  is  a  sort  of 
triumph  and  mischief  in  her  manner,  which  I  don't  know  otherwise 
how  to  describe.  She  does  not  understand  my  best  jokes  at  this 
period,  or  answers  them  at  random,  or  laughs  very  absurdly  and 
vacantly.  She  embraces  her  children  wildly,  and  at  the  most 
absurd  moments,  is  utterly  unmindful  when  they  are  saying  their 
lessons,  prattling  their  little  questions,  and  so  forth.  I  recall  all 
these  symptoms  (and  put  this  and  that  together,  as  the  saying  is) 
as  happening  on  one  especial  day,  at  the  commencement  of  Easter 
Term,  eighteen  hundred  and  never  mind  what — as  happening  on  one 
especial  morning  when  this  lady  had  been  astoundingly  distraite  and 
curiously  excited.  I  now  remember,  how  during  her  children's 
dinner-time,  she  sat  looking  into  the  square  out  of  her  window,  and 
scarcely  attending  to  the  little  innocent  cries  for  mutton  which  the 
children  were  offering  up. 

At  last  there  was  a  rajiid  clank  over  the  pavement,  a  tall  figure 
passed  the  parlour  windows,  which  our  kind  friends  know  look  into 
Queen  Square,  and  tlien  came  a  loud  ring  at  the  bell,  and  I  thf)Ught 
the  mistress  of  the  house  gave  an  ah — a  sigh- — as  though  her  heart 
was  relieved. 

The  street  doiir  was  presently  opened,  and  then  the  dining-room 
door,  and  Philiit  walks  in  with  his  hat  on,  his  blue  eyes  staring 
before  him,  his  hair  Haming  about,  and  "  La,  Uncle  Philip  !  "  cry 
the  children.  "What  have  you  done  to  youiself?  You  have 
shaved  off  your  moustache."     And  so  he  had,  I  declare  ! 

"  I  say,  Pen,  look  here  !  This  has  been  left  at  chambers ;  and 
Cassidy  has  sent  it  on  by  his  clerk,"  our  friend  said.  I  forget 
whether  it  has  been  stated  that  Philip's  name  still  remained  on  the 
door  of  those  chambers  in  Parchment  Buildings,  where  we  once 
heard  his  song  of  "  Doctor  Luther,"  and  were  present  at  his  call- 
supper. 

The  document  wliich   Philip   produced  was   actually  a  brief. 


552  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

The  papers  were  superscribed,  "In  Parliament,  Polwheedle  and 
Tredyddliim  Railway.  To  support  bill,  Mr.  Firmin  ;  retainer,  five 
guineas  ;  brief,  fifty  guineas  ;  consultation,  five  guineas.  With  you, 
Mr.  Armstrong,  Sir  J.  AVhitworth,  Mr.  Pinkerton."  Here  was  a 
wonder  of  wonders  !  A  shower  of  gold  was  jjoured  out  on  my  friend. 
A  light  dawned  upon  me.  The  proposed  bill  was  for  a  Cornish 
line.  Our  friend  Tregarvan  was  concerned  in  it,  the  line  passing 
through  his  property,  and  my  wife  had  canvassed  him  privately, 
and  by  her  wheedling  and  blandishments  had  persuaded  Tregarvan 
to  use  his  interest  with  the  agents  and  get  Phihp  this  welcome  aid. 
Philip  eyed  the  paper  with  a  queer  expression.  He  handled  it 
as  some  men  handle  a  baby.  He  looked  as  if  he  did  not  know 
what  to  do  with  it,  and  as  if  he  should  like  to  drop  it.  I  believe  I 
made  some  satirical  remark  to  this  effect  as  I  looked  at  our  friend 
witli  his  paper. 

"  He  holds  a  child  beautifully,"  said  my  wife  with  much  en- 
thusiasm ;   "  much  better  than  some  people  who  laugh  at  him." 

"  And  he  will  hold  this  no  doubt  much  to  his  credit.  May  this 
be  the  father  of  many  briefs.  May  you  have  bags  full  of  them  ! " 
Philip  had  all  our  good  wishes.  They  did  not  cost  much,  or  avail 
much,  but  they  were  sincere.  I  know  men  who  can't  for  the  lives 
of  ^  them  give  even  that  cheap  coin  of  goodwill,  but  hate  their 
neighbours'  prosperity,  and  are  angry  with  them  when  they  cease 
to  be  dependent  and  poor. 

We  have  said  how  Cassidy's  astonished  clerk  had  brought  the 
brief  from  chambers  to  Firmin  at  his  lodgings,  at  Mrs.  Brandon's  in 
Thornliaugh  Street.  Had  a  bailiff"  served  him  with  a  writ,  Philij) 
could  not  have  been  more  surprised,  or  in  a  greater  tremor.  A 
brief?  Grands  Dieux  !  What  was  he  to  do  with  a  brief?  He 
thought  of  going  to  bed,  and  being  ill,  or  flying  from  home,  country, 
family.  Brief?  Charlotte,  of  course,  seeing  her  husband  alarmed, 
began  to  quake  too.  Indeed,  if  his  worship's  finger  aches,  does  not 
her  whole  body  suffer?  But  Charlotte's  and  Philip's  constant 
friend,  the  Little  Sister,  felt  no  such  fear.  "  Now  there's  this  open- 
ing, you  must  take  it,  my  dear,"  she  said.     "Suppose  you  don't 

know  much  about  law "     "Much  !  nothing,"  interposed  Philip. 

"  You  might  ask  me  to  play  the  piano  ;  but  as  I  never  happened  to 

have  learned " 

"  La — don't  tell  me  !  You  mustn't  show  a  faint  heart.  Take 
the  business,  and  do  it  as  best  you  can.  You'll  do  it  better  next 
time,  and  next.  The  Bar's  a  gentleman's  business.  Don't  I  attend 
a  judge's  lady,  which  I  remember  her  with  her  first  in  a  little  bit 
of  a  house  in  Bernard  Street,  Russell  Square ;  and  now  haven't  I 
been  to  her  in  Eaton  Square,  with  a  butler  arid  two  footmen,  and 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     553 

carriages  ever  so  many'?  You  may  work  on  at  your  newspapers, 
and  get  a  crust,  and  when  you're  old,  and  if  you  quarrel — and  you 
have  a  knack  of  quarrelling — he  has,  Mrs.  Firmin.  I  knew  him 
before  you  did.  Quarrelsome  he  is,  and  he  will  be,  though  you 
think  him  an  angel,  to  be  sure. — Suppose  you  quarrel  with  your 
newspaper  masters,  and  your  reviews,  and  that,  you  lose  your  place. 
A  gentleman  like  Mr.  Philip  oughtn't  to  have  a  master.  I  couldn't 
bear  to  think  of  your  going  down  of  a  Saturday  to  the  publishing 
office  to  get  your  wages  like  a  workman." 

"  But  /  am  a  workman,"  interposes  Pliilip. 

"  La !  But  do  you  mean  to  remain  one  for  ever  1  I  would 
rise,  if  I  was  a  man  !"  said  the  intrejml  little  woman  ;  "  I  would 
rise,  or  I'd  know  the  reason  wliy.  Who  knows  how  many  in  family 
you're  going  to  be  1  I'd  have  more  spirit  than  to  live  in  a  second 
floor — I  would  !  " 

And  the  Little  Sister  said  this,  though  she  clung  round  Philip's 
child  with  a  rapture  of  fondness  which  she  tried  in  vain  to  conceal ; 
though  she  felt  that  to  part  from  it  would  be  to  part  from  her 
life's  chief  happiness  ;  though  she  loved  Philip  as  her  own  son  :  and 
Charlotte — well,  Charlotte  for  Philip's  sake — as  women  love  other 
women. 

Cliarlotte  came  to  her  friends  in  Queen  Square,  and  told  us  of 
the  resolute  Little  Sister's  advice  and  conversation.  She  knew  that 
Mrs.  Brandon  only  loved  her  as  something  belonging  to  Philip. 
She  admired  this  Little  Sister;  and  trusted  her;  and  could  afford 
to  bear  that  little  somewhat  scornful  domination  which  Brandon 
exercised.  "  Slie  does  not  love  me,  because  Philip  does,"  Charlotte 
said.  "  Do  you  think  I  could  like  her,  or  any  woman,  if  I  thought 
Philip  loved  them  ?  I  could  kill  them,  Laura,  that  I  could  !  " 
And  at  this  sentiment  I  imagine  daggers  shooting  out  of  a  pair  of 
eyes  that  were  ordinarily  very  gentle  and  bright. 

Not  having  been  engaged  in  the  case  in  which  Philip  had  the 
honour  of  first  appearing,  I  cannot  enter  into  particulars  regarding 
it,  but  am  sure  that  case  must  have  been  uncommonly  strong  in 
itself  which  could  survive  such  an  advocate.  He  passed  a  frigliti'id 
night  of  torture  before  ajjpearing  in  committee-room.  During  that 
night,  he  says,  his  hair  grew  grey.  His  old  college  friend  and 
comrade  Pinkerton,  who  was  with  him  in  the  case,  "  coached  "  him 
on  the  day  ])revious  ;  and  indeed  it  must  be  owned  tliat  the  work 
which  he  had  to  i)erform  was  not  of  a  nature  to  impair  the  inside 
or  the  outside  of  his  skull.  A  great  man  was  his  leader  ;  his  friend 
Pinkerton  followed ;  and  all  Mr.  PhiliiVs  business  was  to  examine 
a  half-dozen  witnesses  by  questiojis  previously  arranged  between 
them  and  the  agents. 


554  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Wlien  you  hear  tliat,  as  a  reward  of  his  services  in  this  case, 
Mr.  Firniiii  received  a  sum  of  money  sufficient  to  pay  his  modest 
family  expenses  for  some  four  montlis,  I  am  sure,  dear  and  respected 
Hterary  friends,  that  you  will  wish  the  lot  of  a  parliamentary 
barrister  had  been  yours,  or  that  your  immortal  works  could  be 
paid  with  such  a  liberality  as  rewards  the  labours  of  these  lawyers. 
"  Niramer  erscheinen  die  Gutter-  allein.'"  After  one  agent  had 
employed  Philip,  another  came  and  secured  his  valuable  services : 
him  two  or  three  others  followed,  and  our  friend  positively  had 
money  in  bank.  Not  only  were  apprehensions  of  poverty  removed 
for  the  present,  but  we  had  every  reason  to  hope  that  Firmin's 
prosperity  would  increase  and  continue.  And  when  a  little  son 
and  heir  was  born,  which  blessing  was  conferred  upon  Mr.  Philip 
about  a  year  after  his  daughter,  our  godchild,  saw  the  light,  we 
should  have  thought  it  shame  to  have  any  misgivings  about  the 
future,  so  cheerful  did  Philip's  prospects  appear.  "  Did  I  not  tell 
you,"  said  my  wife,  with  her  usual  kindling  romance,  "  that  comfort 
and  succour  would  be  found  for  these  in  the  hour  of  their  need  ? " 
Amen.  We  were  grateful  that  comfort  and  succour  should  come. 
No  one,  I  am  sure,  was  more  humbly  thankful  than  Philip  himself 
for  the  fortunate  chances  which  befell  him. 

He  was  alarmed  rather  than  elated  by  his  sudden  prosperity. 
"  It  can't  last,"  he  said.  "  Don't  tell  me.  The  attorneys  must 
find  me  out  before  long.  They  cannot  continue  to  give  their 
business  to  such  an  ignoramus :  and  I  really  think  I  must  remon- 
strate with  them."  You  should  have  seen  the  Little  Sister's  in- 
dignation when  Philip  uttered  this  sentiment  in  her  presence. 
"  Give  up  your  business  1  Yes,  do  !  "  she  cried,  tossing  up  Philip's 
youngest  born.  "  Fling  this  baby  out  of  window,  why  not  indeed, 
which  Heaven  has  sent  it  you  !  You  ought  to  go  down  on  your 
knees  and  ask  pardon  for  having  thought  anything  so  wicked." 
Philip's  heir,  by  the  way,  immediately  on  hi>s  entrance  into  the 
world,  had  become  the  prime  favourite  of  this  unreasoning  woman. 
The  little  daughter  was  passed  over  as  a  little  person  of  no  account, 
and  so  began  to  entertain  the  passion  of  jealousy  at  almost  the 
very  earliest  age  at  which  even  the  female  breast  is  capable  of 
enjoying  it. 

And  though  this  Little  Sister  loved  all  these  people  with  an 
almost  ferocious  passion  of  love,  and  lay  awake,  I  believe,  hearing 
their  infantine  cries,  or  crept  on  stealthy  feet  in  darkness  to  their 
mother's  chamber-door,  behind  w^hich  they  lay  sleeping;  though 
she  had,  as  it  were,  a  rage  for  these  infants,  and  was  wretched  out 
of  their  sight,  yet,  when  a  third  and  a  fourth  brief  came  to  Philip, 
and  he  was  enabled   to  put  a  little  money  aside,  nothing  would 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      555 

content  Mrs.  Brandon  but  that  he  should  go  into  a  house  of  his 
own.  "  A  gentleman,"  she  said,  "  ought  not  to  live  in  a  two-pair 
lodging ;  he  ought  to  have  a  house  of  hir,  own."  So,  you  see,  she 
hastened  on  the  preparations  for  her  own  execution.  She  trudged 
to  the  brokers'  shops  and  made  wonderful  bargains  of  furniture. 
Slie  cut  chintzes,  and  covered  sofas,  and  sewed,  and  patched,  and 
fitted.  She  found  a  house  and  took  it — Milman  Street,  Guilford 
Street,  opi)osite  the  Fondling  (as  the  dear  little  soul  called  it),  a 
most  genteel  quiet  little  street,  "and  quite  near  for  me  to  come," 
she  said,  "  to  see  my  dears."  Did  she  speak  with  dry  eyes  ?  Mine 
moisten  sometimes  when  I  think  of  the  faith,  of  the  generosity,  of 
the  sacrifice,  of  that  devoted  loving  creature. 

I  am  very  fond  of  Charlotte.  Her  sweetness  and  simplicity 
won  all  our  hearts  at  home.  No  wife  or  mother  ever  was  more 
attached  and  aflfectionate ;  but  I  own  there  was  a  time  when  I 
hated  her,  though  of  course  that  highly  principled  woman,  the  wife 
of  the  author  of  the  present  memoirs,  says  that  the  statement  I  am 
making  here  is  stuff"  and  nonsense,  not  to  say  immoral  and  irreligious. 
Well,  then,  I  hated  Charlotte  for  the  horrible  eagerness  which  she 
showed  in  getting  away  from  this  Little  Sister,  who  clung  round 
those  children,  whose  first  cries  she  had  heard.  I  hated  Charlotte 
for  a  cruel  hapjiiness  which  she  felt  as  she  hugged  the  children  to 
her  heart :  her  own  chiklren  in  their  own  room,  whom  she  would 
dress,  and  watch,  and  wash,  and  tend  ;  and  for  whom  she  Avantcd 
no  aid.  No  aid,  entendez-vous  ?  Oh,  it  was  a  shame,  a  shame  ! 
lu  the  new  house,  in  the  pleasant  little  trim  new  nursery  (fitted  uj) 
by  whose  fond  hands  we  will  not  say),  is  the  mother  glaring  over 
the  cot,  where  the  little  soft  round  cheeks  are  pillowed ;  and  yonder 
in  the  rooms  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  where  she  lias  tended  them  for 
two  years,  the  Little  Sister  sits  lonely,  as  the  moonlight  streams  in. 
God  helj)  thee,  little  suffering  faithful  heart !  Never  but  once  in 
her  life  before  had  she  known  so  excjuisite  a  pain. 

Of  course,  we  had  an  entertainment  in  the  new  house ;  and 
Philip's  friends,  old  and  new,  came  to  the  house-warming.  The 
family  coach  of  the  Ringwoods  blocked  up  that  astonished  little 
street.  The  powder  on  their  footmen's  heads  nearly  brushed  tlie 
ceiling,  as  the  monsters  rose  when  the  guests  ])assed  in  and  out  of 
the  hall.  The  Little  Sister  merely  took  charge  of  the  tea-room. 
Philip's  "  library  "  was  that  usual  little  cui»board  beyond  the  dining- 
room.  The  little  drawing-room  was  dreadfully  crowded  by  an  ex- 
nursery  piano,  which  the  Ringwoods  bestowed  uj)on  their  friends ; 
and  somebody  was  in  duty  bound  to  play  upon  it  on  the  evening 
of  this  soiree:  though  the  Little  Sister  chafed  downstairs  at  the 
music.     lu    fact   her  very  words  were  "Rat   tliat    piano!"     Slie 


556  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  ratted  "  the  instrument,  because  the  music  would  wake  her  little 
dears  upstairs.  And  that  music  did  wake  them ;  and  they  howled 
melodiously,  and  tlie  Little  Sister,  who  was  about  to  serve  Lady 
Jane  Tregarvan  with  some  tea,  dashed  upstairs  to  the  nursery  :  and 
Charlotte  had  reached  the  room  already  :  and  she  looked  angry 
when  the  Little  Sister  came  in  :  and  she  said,  "  I  am  sure,  Mrs. 
Brandon,  the  people  downstairs  will  be  wanting  their  tea;"  and 
she  spoke  with  some  asperity.  And  Mrs.  Brandon  went  downstairs 
without  one  word  ;  and,  happening  to  be  on  the  landing,  conversing 
with  a  friend,  and  a  little  out  of  the  way  of  the  duet  which  the 
Miss  Ringwoods  were  performing — riding  their  great  old  horse,  as 
it  were,  and  putting  it  through  its  paces  in  Mrs.  Firmin's  little 
paddock  ; — happening,  I  say,  to  be  on  the  landing  when  Caroline 
passed,  I  took  a  hand  as  cold  as  stone,  and  never  saw  a  look  of 
grief  more  tragic  tlian  that  worn  by  her  poor  little  face  as  it  passed. 
"My  children  cried,"  she  said,  "and  I  went  up  to  the  nursery. 
But  she  don't  want  me  tliere  now."  Poor  Little  Sister.  She 
Inunbled  herself  and  grovelled  before  Charlotte.  You  could  not 
help  trampling  upon  her  then,  madam ;  and  I  hated  you — and  a 
great  number  of  other  women,  Ridley  and  I  went  down  to  her 
tea-room,  where  Caroline  resumed  her  place.  She  looked  very 
nice,  and  pretty,  with  her  pale  sweet  face,  and  her  neat  cap  and 
blue  ribbon.  Tortures  I  know  she  was  suffering.  Charlotte  had 
been  stabbing  her.  Women  will  use  the  edge  sometimes,  and  drive 
the  steel  in.  Charlotte  said  to  me,  some  time  afterwards,  "  I  loas 
jealous  of  her,  and  you  were  right ;  and  a  dearer  more  faithful 
creature  never  lived."  But  who  told  Charlotte  I  said  she  was 
jealous  1  0  fool !  I  told  Ridley,  and  Mr.  Ridley  told  Mrs.  Firmin. 
If  Charlotte  stabbed  Caroline,  Caroline  could  not  help  coming 
back  again  and  again  to  the  knife.  On  Sundays,  when  she  was 
free,  there  was  always  a  place  for  her  at  Philip's  modest  table  ;  and 
when  Mrs.  Philip  went  to  church,  Caroline  Avas  allowed  to  reign  in 
the  nursery.  Sometimes  Cliarlotte  was  generous  enough  to  give 
Mrs.  Brandon  this  chance.  When  Philip  took  a  house — a  whole 
house  to  liimself — Philip's  mother-in-law  proposed  to  come  and  stay 
with  him,  and  said  that,  wishing  to  be  beholden  to  no  one,  she 
would  pay  for  her  board  and  lodging.  But  Philip  declined  this 
treat,  representing,  justly,  that  his  present  house  was  no  bigger 
than  his  former  lodgings.  "  My  poor  love  is  dying  to  have  me," 
Mrs.  Baynes  remarked  on  this.  "  But  her  husband  is  so  cruel  to 
her,  and  keeps  her  under  such  terror,  that  she  dares  not  call  her  life 
her  own."  Cruel  to  her  !  Charlotte  was  the  happiest  of  the  happy 
in  her  little  house.  In  consequence  of  his  parliamentary  success, 
Philip  went  regularly  to  chambers  now,  in  the  fond  hope  that  more 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     557 

briefs  miiiht  come.  At  chambers  he  hkewise  conducted  the  chief 
business  of  his  Review ;  and,  at  the  accustomed  hour  of  his  return, 
that  usual  little  procession  of  mother  and  child  and  nurse  would  be 
seen  on  the  watch  for  him ;  and  the  youncr  woman — the  happiest 
young  woman  in  Christendom — would  walk  back  clinging  on  her 
husband's  arm. 

All  this  while  letters  came  from  Philip's  dear  father  at  New 
York,  where,  it  appeared,  he  was  engaged  not  only  in  his  profession, 
but  in  various  speculations,  with  which  he  was  always  about  to 
make  his  fortune.  One  day  Pliilip  got  a  newspaper  advertising  a 
new  insurance  company,  and  saw,  to  his  astonishment,  the  announce- 
ment of  "  Counsel  in  London,  Piiilij)  Firmin,  Esq.,  Parchment 
Buildings,  Temple."  A  paternal  letter  jiromised  Philip  great  lees 
out  of  this  insurance  company,  but  I  never  heard  that  poor  Philij) 
was  any  the  riclier.  In  fact  his  friends  advised  him  to  have  nothing 
to  do  with  this  insurance  company,  and  to  make  no  allusion  to  it  in 
his  letters.  "They  feared  the  Danai,  and  the  gifts  they  brought," 
as  old  Firmin  would  have  said.  They  had  to  impress  upon  Philip 
an  abiding  mistrust  of  that  wily  old  Greek,  his  father.  Firmin 
senior  always  wrote  hoiiefully  and  magnificently,  and  persisted  in 
believing  or  declaring  that  ere  very  long  he  should  have  to  announce 
to  Pliilip  that  liis  fortune  was  made.  He  speculated  in  Wall  Street, 
I  don't  know  in  what  shares,  inventions,  mines,  railways.  One 
day,  some  few  months  after  his  migration  to  Milman  Street,  Phili]>, 
Itlusliing  and  hanging  down  his  head,  had  to  tell  me  that  his  father 
iiad  drawn  u})on  him  again.  Had  he  not  paid  up  his  shares  in  a 
certain  mine,  they  woidd  have  been  forfeited,  and  he  and  his  so?/ 
after  him  would  have  lost  a  certain  fortune,  old  Danaus  said.  I 
fear  an  artful,  a  long-bow-pulling  Danaus.  What,  shall  a  man  have 
birth,  wealth,  friends,  high  position,  and  end  so  that  we  dare  not 
leave  him  alone  in  the  room  with  our  spoons'?  "And  you  have 
paid  this  bill  which  the  old  man  drewl"  we  asked.  Yes,  Philij) 
had  paid  the  bill.  He  vowed  he  would  pay  no  more.  But  it  was 
not  dirticult  to  see  that  the  Doctor  would  draw  more  bills  upon  this 
accommodating  Ijanker.  "  I  dread  the  letters  which  begin  witli  a 
ilourish  about  the  fortune  MJiich  he  is  just  going  to  make,"'  Pliilip 
said.  He  knew  that  the  old  jiarent  ])refaced  his  demands  for  money 
in  that  way. 

Mention  has  been  made  of  a  great  medical  discovery  wiiidi  he 
had  announced  to  his  correspondent,  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  by  which 
the  Doctor  declared  as  usual  that  he  was  about  to  make  a  fortune. 
In  New  York  and  Boston  he  had  tried  experiments  which  had  been 
attended  with  the  most  astonishing  success.  A  remedy  was  dis- 
covered, the  mere  sale  of  which  in  Europe  and  America  must  bring 


558  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

an  immense  revenue  to  the  fortunate  inventors.  For  the  ladies 
whom  Mrs.  Brandon  attended,  the  remedy  was  of  priceless  value. 
He  would  send  her  some.  His  friend,  Captain  Morgan,  of  the 
Southampton  packet-ship,  would  bring  her  some  of  this  astonishing 
medicine.  Let  her  try  it.  Let  her  show  the  accompanying  cases 
to  Dr.  Goodenough — to  any  of  his  brotlier  physicians  in  London. 
Though  himself  an  exile  from  his  country,  he  loved  it,  and  was 
proud  in  being  able  to  confer  upon  it  one  of  the  greatest  blessings 
with  which  science  had  endowed  mankind. 

Goodenough,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  had  such  a  mistrust  of  his 
confrere  that  he  chose  to  disbelieve  any  statement  Firmin  made. 
"  I  don't  believe,  my  good  Brandon,  the  fellow  has  nous  enough  to 
light  upon  any  scientific  discovery  more  usefvd  tlian  a  new  sauce  for 
cutlets.  He  invent  anything  but  fibs,  never ! "  You  see  this 
Goodenough  is  an  obstinate  old  heathen ;  and  when  he  has  once 
found  reason  to  mistrust  a  man,  he  for  ever  after  declines  to 
believe  him. 

However,  the  Doctor  is  a  man  for  ever  on  the  look-out  for  more 
knowledge  of  his  profession,  and  for  more  remedies  to  benefit  man- 
kind :  he  hummed  and  ha'd  over  the  pamphlet,  as  the  Little  Sister 
sat  watching  him  in  his  study.  He  clapped  it  down  after  a  while, 
and  slapped  his  hands  on  his  little  legs  as  his  wont  is.  "  Brandon," 
he  says,  "  I  think  there  is  a  great  deal  in  it,  and  I  think  so  the 
more  because  it  turns  out  that  Firmin  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
discovery,  which  has  been  made  at  Boston."  In  fact,  Dr.  Firmin, 
late  of  London,  had  only  been  present  in  the  Boston  hospital,  where 
the  experiments  were  made  with  the  new  remedy.  He  had  cried 
"  halves,"  and  proposed  to  sell  it  as  a  secret  remedy,  and  the  bottle 
which  he  forwarded  to  our  friend  the  Little  Sister  was  labelled 
"  Firmin's  Anodyne."  What  Firmin  did,  indeed,  was  Avhat  he  had 
been  in  the  habit  of  doing.  He  had  taken  another  man's  property, 
and  was  endeavouring  to  make  a  flourish  vdth  it.  The  Little  Sister 
returned  home,  then,  witli  lier  bottle  of  Chloroform — for  this  was 
what  Dr.  Firmin  chose  to  call  his  discovery,  and  he  had  sent  home 
a  specimen  of  it ;  as  he  sent  home  a  cask  of  petroleum  from  Virginia  ; 
as  he  sent  proposals  for  new  railways  upon  which  he  promised  Philip 
a  munificent  commission,  if  his  son  could  but  place  the  shares 
amongst  his  friends. 

And  with  regard  to  these  valuables,  the  sanguine  Doctor  got 
to  believe  that  lie  really  was  endowing  his  son  with  large  sums  of 
money.  "  My  boy  has  set  up  a  house,  and  has  a  wife  and  two 
children,  the  young  jackanapes  ! "  he  would  say  to  people  in  New 
York;  "as  if  he  had  not  been  extravagant  enough  in  former  days! 
When  I  married,  I  had  private  means,  and  married  a  nobleman's 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      559 

niece  with  a  large  fortune.  Neither  of  these  two  young  folks  has  a 
penny.  Well,  well,  the  old  father  must  help  them  as  well  as  he 
can ! "  And  I  am  told  there  were  ladies  who  dropped  the  tear  of 
sensibility,  and  said,  "  What  a  fond  father  this  Doctor  is  !  How  he 
sacrifices  liimself  for  that  scapegrace  of  a  son  !  Think  of  the  dear 
Doctor  at  his  age,  toiling  cheerfully  for  that  young  man,  who  lielped 
to  ruin  him  ! "  And  Firmin  sighed ;  and  passed  a  beautiful  white 
handkerchief  over  his  eyes  with  a  beautiful  white  hand ;  and,  I 
believe,  really  cried;  and  thought  himself  (piite  a  good,  affectionate, 
injured  man.  He  held  the  plate  at  clunrh ;  he  looked  very  hand- 
some and  tall,  and  bowed  with  a  charming  melancholy  graco  to  tlie 
ladies  as  they  put  in  their  contributions.  The  dear  man  !  His 
plate  was  fuller  than  other  people's — so  a  traveller  told  us  who  saw 
him  in  New  York  ;  and  described  a  very  choice  dinner  which  the 
Doctor  gave  to  a  few  friends,  at  one  of  the  smartest  hotels  just  then 
opened. 

With  all  the  Little  Sister's  good  management  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Philip  were  only  able  to  instal  themselves  in  their  new  house  at  a 
considerable  expense,  and  beyond  that  gi'cat  Ringwood  piano  which 
swaggered  in  Philip's  little  drawing-room,  I  am  constrained  to  say 
that  there  was  scarce  any  furniture  at  all.  One  of  the  railway 
accounts  was  not  paid  as  yet,  and  poor  Philip  could  not  feed  uj)on 
mere  j)aper  promises  to  pay.  Nor  was  he  inclined  to  accept  the 
otlers  of  private  friends,  who  were  willing  enough  to  be  his  bankers. 
"  One  in  a  family  is  enough  for  that  kind  of  business,"  he  said 
gloomily  ;  and  it  came  out  that  again  and  again  the  interesting  exile 
at  New  York,  who  was  deploring  his  son's  extravagance  and  foolish 
marriage,  had  drawn  bills  upon  Philip  which  our  friend  accepted 
and  paid — bills,  who  knows  to  what  amount  1  He  has  never  told  ; 
and  the  engaging  parent  who  robbed  him — must  I  use  a  word  so 
unpolite'?  -will  never  now  tell  to  what  extent  he  helped  himself  to 
Pliilip's  small  means.  This  I  know,  that  when  autnnm  came — 
when  September  was  past — we  in  our  cosy  little  retreat  at  the  sea- 
side received  a  letter  from  the  Little  Sister,  in  her  dear  little  bad 
spelling  (about  which  there  used  to  be  somehow  a  ])athos  which  the 
very  finest  writing  does  not  possess)  ;  there  came,  I  say,  a  letter 
from  the  Little  Sister  in  'whicli  she  told  us,  with  many  dashes,  that 
dear  Mrs.  Philip  and  the  children  were  pining  and  sick  in  London, 
and  "  that  Philip,  he  had  too  nuich  ])ride  and  sperit  to  take  money 
from  any  one  ;  that  Mr.  Tregarvan  was  away  travelling  on  the  Con- 
tinent, and  that  wretch — that  monster,  yon  know  who — have  drawn 
upon  Philip  again  for  money,  and  again  he  have  paid,  and  the  dear 
dear  children  can't  have  fresh  air." 

"  Did  she  tell  you,"  said  Philip,  brushing  his  hands  across  his 


560  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

eyes  when  a  friend  came  to  remonstrate  with  him:  "did  she  tell 
you  that  she  brought  me  money  herself,  but  we  would  not  use  it  ? 
Look !  I  have  her  little  marriage  gift  yonder  in  my  desk,  and  pray 
God  I  shall  be  able  to  leave  it  to  my  children.  The  fact  is,  the 
Doctor  has  drawn  upon  me  as  usual ;  he  is  going  to  make  a  fortune 
next  week.  I  have  paid  another  bill  of  his.  The  parliamentary 
agents  are  out  of  town,  at  their  moors  in  Scotland,  I  suppose.  The 
air  of  Russell  Square  is  uncommonly  wholesome,  and  when  the 
babies  have  had  enough  of  that,  why,  they  must  change  it  for 
Brunswick  Square.  Talk  about  the  country  !  what  country  can  be 
more  quiet  than  Guilford  Street  in  September]  I  stretch  out  of  a 
morning,  and  breathe  the  mountain  air  on  Ludgate  Hill."  And 
with  these  dismal  pleasantries  and  jokes  our  friend  chose  to  put  a 
good  face  upon  bad  fortune.  The  kinsmen  of  Ringwood  offered 
hospitality  kindly  enough,  but  how  was  poor  Philip  to  pay  railway 
expenses  for  servants,  babies,  and  wife  ?     In  this  strait  Tregarvan 

from  abroad,  having  found  out  some  monstrous  design  of  Russ 

of  the  Great  Power  of  which  he  stood  in  daily  terror,  and  which,  as 
we  are  in  strict  amity  with  that  Power,  no  other  Power  shall  induce 
me  to  name — Tregarvan  wrote  to  his  editor,  and  communicated  to 
him  in  confidence  a  most  prodigious  and  nefarious  ])lot  against  the 
liberties  of  all  the  rest  of  Europe,  in  which  the  Power  in  question 
was  engaged,  and  in  a  postscript  added,  "  By  the  way,  the  Michael- 
mas quarter  is  due,  and  I  send  you  a  cheque,"  &c.  &c.  0  precious 
postscript ! 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  would  be  so  1 "  said  my  wife,  with  a  self- 
satisfied  air.      "  Was  I  not  certain  that  succour  would  come  1 " 

And  succour  did  cotue,  sure  enough  ;  and  a  very  happy  little 
party  went  down  to  Brigliton  in  a  second-class  carriage,  and  got  an 
extraordinary  cheap  lodging,  and  the  roses  came  back  to  the  little 
pale  cheeks,  and  mamma  was  wonderfully  invigorated  and  refreshed, 
as  all  her  friends  could  have  .seen  when  the  little  family  came  back 
to  town,  only  tliere  was  such  a  thick  dun  fog  that  it  was  impossible 
to  see  complexions  at  all. 

When  the  shooting  season  was  come  to  an  end,  the  parliamentary 
agents  who  had  employed  Philip  came  back  to  London  ;  and,  I  am 
happy  to  say,  gave  him  a  cheque  for  his  little  account.  My  wife 
cried,  "  Did  I  not  tell  you  so  ? "  more  than  ever.  "  Is  not  every- 
thing for  the  best  ?     I  knew  dear  Philip  would  prosper  !  " 

Everything  was  for  the  best,  was  it  ?  Philip  was  sure  to  prosper, 
was  he  1  What  do  you  think  of  the  next  news  which  the  poor 
fellow  brought  to  us  1  One  night  in  December  he  came  to  us,  and 
I  saw  by  his  face  that  some  event  of  importance  had  befallen  him. 

"I  am  almost  heart-broken,"  he  said,   thumping  on  the  table 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     56l 

when  the  young  ones  had  retreated  from  it.  "  I  don't  know  what 
to  do.  I  have  not  told  you  all.  I  have  paid  four  bills  for  him 
already,  and  now  he  has — he  has  signed  my  name." 

"  Who  has  ? " 

"  He  at  New  York.  You  know,"  said  poor  Philip.  "  I  tell 
you  he  has  put  my  name  on  a  bill,  and  without  my  autliority." 

"  Gracious  heavens  !  You  mean  your  father  has  for— — ■"  I 
could  not  say  the  word. 

"  Yes,"  groaned  Philip.  "  Here  is  a  letter  from  him  ;"  and  he 
handed  a  letter  across  the  table  in  the  Doctor's  well-known  hand- 
writing. 

"  Dearest  Philip,"  the  father  wrote,  "  a  sad  misfortune  iuis 
befallen  me,  which  I  had  hoped  to  conceal,  or,  at  any  rate,  to  avert 
from  my  dear  son.  For  you,  Philip,  are  a  participator  in  that  mis- 
fortune through  the  imprudence — must  I  say  it  1 — of  your  father. 
Would  I  had  stru(?k  off  the  hand  which  has  done  the  deed,  ere  it 
had  been  done !  But  the  fault  has  taken  wings  and  flown  out  of 
my  reach.  Ivimeritus,  dear  boy,  you  have  to  suffer  for  the  delicta 
majorum.  All,  that  a  father  should  have  to  own  his  fault ;  to 
kneel  and  ask  pardon  of  his  son  ! 

"  I  am  engaged  in  many  speculations.  Some  have  succeeded 
beyond  my  wildest  hopes  :  some  have  taken  in  the  most  rational, 
the  most  prudent,  the  least  sanguine  of  our  capitalists  in  Wall 
Street,  and  promising  the  greatest  results  have  ended  in  the  most 
extreme  failure  !  To  meet  a  call  in  an  undertaking  which  seemed 
to  offer  the  most  certain  prospects  of  success,  which  seemed  to 
promise  a  fortune  for  me  and  my  boy,  and  your  dear  children,  I  put 
in  amongst  other  securities  which  I  had  to  realise  on  a  sudden,  a 
bill,  on  which  I  used  your  name.  I  dated  it  as  drawn  six  months 
back  by  me  at  New  York,  on  you  at  Parchment  Buildings,  Tcnii>le  ; 
and  I  wrote  you"  acceptance,  as  though  tiie  signature  wei'e  yours. 
I  give  myself  up  to  you.  I  tell  you  what  I  have  done.  I\Iake  the 
matter  public.  Give  my  confession  to  the  world,  as  here  I  write, 
and  sign  it,  and  your  father  is  branded  for  ever  to  the  world  as 
a Spare  me  the  word  ! 

"  As  I  live,  as  I  hope  for  your  forgiveness,  long  ere  that  bill 
became  due — it  is  at  five  months'  date,  for  £386,  4s.  .'3d.  value 
received,  and  dated  from  the  Temple,  on  the  4th  of  July — I  jjassed 
it  to  one  who  promised  to  keep  it  until  I  myself  shoulil  redeem  it ! 
The  commission  which  he  charged  me  was  enormova,  rasralh/ ;  and 
not  content  with  the  inmiense  interest  which  he  extorted  from  me, 
the  scoundrel  has  passed  the  bill  away,  and  it  is  in  Euroi)e,  in  the 
hands  of  an  enemy. 


562  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"You  remember  Tufton  Hunt?  Yes.  You  most  justly 
chastised  him.  The  wretch  lately  made  his  detested  appearance 
in  this  city,  associated  with  the  loivest  nf  the  base,  and  endeavoured 
to  resume  his  old  practice  of  threats,  cajoleries,  and  extortions  ! 
In  a  fatal  hour  the  villain  heard  of  the  bill  of  which  I  have  warned 
you.  He  purchased  it  from  the  gambler  to  whom  it  had  been 
passed.  As  New  York  was  speedily  too  hot  to  hold  him  {fm-  the 
unhappy  man  has  even  left  me  to  pay  his  hotel  score)  he  has  fled 
— and  fled  to  Europe — taking  with  him  that  fatal  bill,  which  he 
says  he  knows  you  will  pay.  Ah  !  dear  Philip,  if  that  bill  were 
but  once  out  of  the  wretch's  hands,  what  sleepless  hours  of  agony 
should  I  be  spared !  I  pray  you,  I  implore  you,  make  every 
sacrifice  to  meet  it !  You  will  not  disown  it  ?  No.  As  you  have 
children  of  your  own — as  you  love  them — you  would  not  willingly 
let  them  leave  a  dishonoured  Father. 

"  I  have  a  share  in  a  great  medical  discoveiy,*  regarding  which 
I  have  written  to  our  friend,  Mrs.  Brandon,  and  which  is  sure  to 
realise  an  immense  profit,  as  introduced  into  England  bv  a  physician 
so  well  known — may  I  not  say,  professionally,  respected  as  myself? 
The  very  first  profits  resulting  from  that  discovery  I  promise,  on 
my  honour,  to  devote  to  you.  They  will  very  soon  far  more  than 
repay  the  loss  which  my  imprudence  has  brought  on  my  dear  boy. 
Farewell !     Love  to  your  wife  and  little  ones. — G.  B.  F." 

*  Ethet  was  first  employed,  I  believe,  in  America ;  and  I  hope  the  reader 
will  excuse  the  substitution  of  Chloroform  in  this  instance. — W.  M.  T. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

NEC  PLEKA   CRUORIS   HIRUDO 

THE  reading  of  tliis  precious  letter  tilk'(l  Philip's  friend  with 
ail  inward  indignation  which  it  was  very  hard  to  control  or 
disguise.  It  is  no  pleasant  task  to  tell  a  gentleman  that  his 
father  is  a  rogue.  Old  Firmiu  would  have  been  hanged  a  few  years 
earlier,  fur  practices  like  these.  As  you  talk  with  a  very  great 
scoundrel,  or  with  a  madman,  has  not  the  respected  reader  some- 
times reflected,  with  a  grim  self-humiliation,  how  the  fellow  is  of 
our  own  kind ;  and  homo  est  ?  Let  us,  dearly  beloved,  who  are 
outside — I  mean  outside  the  hulks  or  the  asylum — be  thankful  that 
we  have  to  j)ay  a  barber  for  snipping  our  hair,  and  are  entrusted 
with  the  choice  of  the  cut  of  our  own  jerkins.  As  poor  Philip  read 
his  fatlier's  letter,  my  thought  was:  "And  I  can  remember  the 
soft  white  hand  of  the  scoundrel,  which  has  just  been  forging  his 
own  son's  name,  {Mitting  sovereigns  into  my  own  palm,  when  I  was 
a  schoolboy."  I  always  liked  that  man: — but  the  story  is  not  de 
me — it  regards  Philip. 

"You  won't  pay  this  bill?"  Philip's  friend  indignantly  said, 
then. 

"What  can  I  do"?"  says  poor  Phil,  shaking  a  sad  head. 

"  You  are  not  wortli  five  hundred  pounds  in  the  world,"  re- 
marks the  friend. 

"Who  ever  said  I  was?  I  am  worth  this  bill,  or  my  credit 
is,"  answers  tlie  victim. 

"  If  you  pay  this,  he  will  draw  more." 

"  I  daresay  he  will  :  "  that  Firnun  admits. 

"  And  he  will  continue  to  draw  as  long  as  there  is  a  drop  of 
blood  to  be  had  out  of  you." 

"  Yes,"  owns  poor  Philip,  putting  a  finger  to  his  lip.  He 
thouglit  I  might  be  about  to  speak.  His  artless  wife  and  mine 
were  conversing  at  that  moment  ujton  the  respective  merits  of  some 
sweet  ciiintzes  wliich  they  had  seen  at  Shoolbred's,  in  Tottenham 
Court  Road,  and  which  were  so  cheap  and  pleasant,  and  lively  to 
look  at !  Really  those  drawing-room  curtains  would  cost  scarcely 
anytliing  !     Our  Regulus,  you  see,  before  stepping  into  his  torture- 


564  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

tub,  was  smiling  on  his  friends,  and  talking  upholstery  with  a 
cheerful  smirking  countenanee.  On  chintz,  or  some  other  household 
errand,  the  ladies  went  prattling  off:  but  there  was  no  care,  save 
for  husband  and  children,  in  Charlotte's  poor  little  innocent  heart 
just  then. 

"  Nice  to  hear  her  talking  about  sweet  drawing-room  chintzes, 
isn't  it?"  says  Philip.  "Shall  we  try  Shoolbred's  or  the  other 
shop  ? "     And  then  he  laughs.     It  was  not  a  very  lively  laugh. 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  determined,  then,  on " 

"  On  acknowledging  my  signature  ?  Of  course,"  says  Philip, 
"if  ever  it  is  presented  to  me,  I  would  own  it."  And  having 
formed  and  announced  this  resolution,  I  knew  my  stubborn  friend 
too  well  to  think  that  he  ever  would  shirk  it. 

The  most  exasperating  part  of  the  matter  was,  that  however 
generously  Philip's  friends  might  be  disposed  towards  him,  they 
could  not  in  this  case  give  him  a  helping  hand.  The  Doctor  would 
draw  more  bills,  and  more.  As  sure  as  Philip  supi)lied,  the  parent 
would  ask  ;  and  that  devouring  dragon  of  a  Doctor  had  stomach 
enough  for  the  blood  of  all  of  us,  were  we  inclined  to  give  it. 
In  fact,  Philip  saw  as  much,  and  oAvned  everything  with  his  usual 
candour.  "I  see  what  is  going  on  in  your  mind,  old  boy,"  the 
poor  fellow  said,  "  as  well  as  if  you  spoke.  You  mean  that  I  am 
helpless  and  irreclaimable,  and  doomed  to  hopeless  ruin.  So  it 
would  seem.  A  man  can't  escape  his  fate,  friend,  and  my  father 
has  made  mine  for  me.  If  I  manage  to  struggle  through  the  pay- 
ment of  this  bill,  of  course  he  will  draw  another.  My  only  chance 
of  escape  is,  that  he  should  succeed  in  some  of  his  speculations. 
As  he  is  always  gambling,  tliere  may  be  some  luck  for  him  one 
day  or  another.  He  won't  benefit  me,  then.  That  is  not  his  way. 
If  he  makes  a  coiq^,  he  will  keep  the  money,  or  spend  it.  He 
won't  give  me  any.  But  he  will  not  draw  upon  me  as  he  does 
now,  or  send  forth  fancy  imitations  of  the  filial  autograph.  It  is 
a  blessing  to  have  such  a  father,  isn't  it?  I  say.  Pen,  as  I  think 
from  whom  I  am  descended,  and  look  at  your  spoons,  I  am 
astonished  I  have  not  put  any  of  them  in  my  pocket.  You  leave 
me  in  the  room  with  'em  quite  unprotected.  I  say,  it  is  quite 
affecting  the  way  in  which  you  and  your  dear  wife  have  confidence 
in  me."  And  with  a  bitter  execration  at  his  fate,  the  poor  fellow 
pauses  for  a  moment  in  his  lament. 

His  fether  was  his  fate,  he  seemed  to  think,  and  there  were 
no  means  of  averting  it.  "  You  remember  that  picture  of  Abraham 
and  Isaac  in  the  Doctor's  study  in  Old  Parr  Street?"  he  would 
say.  "My  patriarch  has  tied  me  up,  and  had  the  knife  in  me 
repeatedly.     He  does  not  sacrifice  me  at  one  operation ;  but  there 


i 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     565 

will  be  a  final  one  some  day,  and  I  shall  bleed  no  more.  It's  gay 
and  amusing,  isn't  it  1  Especially  when  one  has  a  wife  and  children." 
I,  for  my  part,  felt  so  indignant,  that  I  was  minded  to  advertise 
in  the  ])apers  that  all  acceptances  drawn  in  Philip's  name  were 
forgeries ;  and  let  his  father  take  the  consequences  of  his  own  act. 
But  the  consequences  would  have  been  life  imprisonment  for  the 
old  man,  and  almost  as  much  disgrace  and  ruin  for  the  young  one, 
as  were  actually  impending.  He  pointed  out  this  clearly  eno\igh  ; 
nor  could  we  altogether  gainsay  his  dismal  logic.  It  was  better,  at 
any  rate,  to  meet  his  bill,  and  give  the  Doctor  warning  for  the 
future.  Well :  perhaps  it  was ;  only  sup])ose  the  Doctor  should 
take  the  warning  in  good  part,  accept  the  rebuke  with  jjcrfect 
meekness,  and  at  an  early  opportunity  commit  another  forgery  1 
To  this  PhiHp  replied  that  no  man  could  resist  his  fate  :  that 
he  had  always  expected  his  own  doom  through  his  father  :  that 
wiien  the  elder  went  to  America  he  thought  ])()ssibly  the  cliarm  was 
broken  ;  "  but  you  see  it  is  not,"  groaned  Philip,  "and  my  fatlier's 
emissaries  reach  me,  and  I  am  still  under  the  spell."  The  bearer 
of  the  howstrin;/,  we  know,  was  on  his  way,  and  would  deliver  his 
grim  message  ere  long. 

Having  frequently  succeeded  in  extorting  money  from  Dr. 
Firmin,  Mr.  Tufton  Hunt  thought  he  could  not  do  better  than 
follow  his  banker  across  the  Atlantic  ;  and  we  need  not  describe 
the  annoyance  and  rage  of  the  Doctor  on  finding  this  black  care 
still  behind  his  back.  He  had  not  much  to  give  ;  indeed  the  sum 
which  he  took  away  with  him,  and  of  which  he  robbed  his  son  and 
his  other  creditors,  was  but  small ;  but  Hunt  was  bent  upon  having 
a  ])ortion  of  tins  ;  and,  of  course,  hinted  that,  if  the  Doctor  refused, 
he  would  carry  to  the  New  York  press  the  particulars  of  Firmin's 
early  career  and  latest  defalcations.  Mr.  Hunt  had  been  under  the 
gallery  of  the  House  of  Commons  half-a-dozen  times,  and  knew  our 
public  men  by  sight.  In  the  course  of  a  pretty  long  and  disreput- 
able career  he  had  learned  anecdotes  regarding  members  of  the 
aristocracy,  turf-men,  and  the  like ;  and  he  offered  to  sell  this 
precious  knowledge  of  his  to  more  than  one  American  ])a]ier,  as 
other  amiable  exiles  from  our  country  have  done.  But  Hunt  was 
too  old,  and  his  stories  too  stale  for  the  New  York  public.  They 
dated  from  (jleorge  IV.,  and  the  boxing  and  coaching  times.  He 
found  but  little  market  for  his  wares;  and  the  tipsy  ])arson  reeled 
from  tavern  to  bar,  only  the  object  of  scorn  to  younger  i-eprobates 
who  despised  his  old-fashioned  stories,  and  could  toj)  them  with 
blackguardism  of  a  much  more  modern  date. 

After  some  two  years'  sojourn  in  tlie  rniteil  States,  this  worthy 
felt   the   passionate   longing    to    ie\isit    liis   native   country    wliich 


566  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

generous  hearts  often  experience,  and  made  his  way  from  Liverpool 
to  London ;  and  when  in  London,  directed  his  steps  to  the  house 
of  tlie  Little  Sister,  of  wliich  lie  expected  to  find  Philip  still  an 
inmate.  Although  Hunt  had  been  once  kicked  out  of  the  premises, 
lie  felt  little  shame  now  about  re-entering  them.  He  had  that  in 
his  pocket  which  would  ensure  him  respectful  beliaviour  from  Philip. 
What  were  the  circumstances  under  which  that  forged  bill  was 
obtained  1  Was  it  a  speculation  between  Hunt  and  Philip's  fother  1 
Did  Hunt  suggest  that,  to  screen  the  elder  Firmin  from  disgrace 
and  ruin,  Philip  would  assuredly  take  the  bill  up  ?  That  a  forged 
signature  was,  in  ftxct,  a  better  document  than  a  genuine  acceptance  1 
We  shall  never  know  the  truth  regarding  this  transaction  now. 
We  have  but  the  statements  of  the  two  parties  concerned ;  and  as 
both  of  them,  I  grieve  to  say,  are  entirely  unworthy  of  credit,  we 
must  remain  in  ignorance  regarding  this  matter.  Perhaps  Hunt 
forged  Philip's  acceptance  :  perhaps  his  unhappy  father  wrote 
it :  perhaps  the  Doctor's  story  that  the  paper  was  extorted 
from  him  was  true,  perhaps  false.  What  matters  1  Both  the  men 
have  passed  away  from  amongst  us,  and  will  write  and  speak  no 
more  lies. 

Caroline  was  absent  from  home,  when  Hunt  paid  his  first  visit 
after  his  return  from  America.  Her  servant  described  the  man, 
and  his  appearance.  Mrs.  Brandon  felt  sure  that  Hunt  was  her 
visitor,  and  foreboded  no  good  to  Philip  from  the  parson's  arrival. 
In  former  days  we  liave  seen  how  the  Little  Sister  had  found  favour 
in  the  eyes  of  this  man.  The  besotted  creature,  shunned  of  men, 
stained  with  crime,  drink,  del)t,  had  still  no  little  vanity  in  his 
composition,  and  gave  himself  airs  in  the  tavern  parlours  which  he 
frequented.  Because  he  had  been  at  the  University  thirty  years 
ago,  his  idea  was  that  he  was  superior  to  ordinary  men  who  had 
not  had  the  benefit  of  an  education  at  Oxford  or  Cambridge ;  and 
that  the  "snobs,"  as  he  called  them,  respected  him.  He  would 
assume  grandiose  airs  in  talking  to  a  tradesman  ever  so  wealthy ; 
speak  to  such  a  man  by  his  surname ;  and  deem  that  he  honoured 
him  by  his  patronage  and  conversation.  The  Little  Sister's  grammar, 
I  have  told  you,  was  not  good ;  her  poor  little  h's  were  sadly  irre- 
gular. A  letter  was  a  painful  task  to  her.  She  knew  how  ill  she 
performed  it,  and  that  she  was  for  ever  making  blunders. 

She  would  invent  a  thousand  funny  little  pleas  and  excuses  for 
her  faults  of  writing.  With  all  the  blunders  of  spelling,  her  little 
letters  had  a  pathos  which  somehow  brought  tears  into  the  eyes. 
The  Rev.  Mr.  Hunt  believed  himself  to  be  this  woman's  superior. 
He  thought  his  University  education  gave  him  a  claim  upon  her 
respect,  and  draped  himself  and  swaggered  before  her  and  others  in 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      567 

his  dingy  college  gown.  He  had  paraded  hi«  Master  of  Arts  degree 
in  many  thousand  tavern  parlours,  where  his  Greek  and  learning  had 
got  him  a  kind  of  respect.  He  patronised  landlords,  and  strutted 
by  hostesses'  bars  with  a  vinous  leer  or  a  tipsy  solemnity.  He 
must  have  been  very  far  gone  and  debased  indeed  when  he  could 
still  think  that  he  was  any  living  man's  better  : — he,  who  ought 
to  have  waited  on  the  waiters,  and  blacked  Boots's  own  shoes. 
When  he  had  reached  a  certain  stage  of  liquor  he  commonly  began 
to  brag  about  the  University,  and  recite  the  titles  of  his  friends  of 
early  days.  Never  was  kicking  more  rigliteously  administered  tlian 
that  which  Philip  once  bestowed  on  this  miscreant.  The  fellow 
took  to  the  gutter  as  naturally  as  to  his  bed,  Firmin  used  to  say  ; 
and  vowed  that  the  washing  there  was  a  novelty  which  did  hira 
good. 

Mrs.  Brandon  soon  found  that  her  surmises  were  correct  regard- 
ing her  nameless  visitor.  Next  day,  as  she  was  watering  some 
little  flowers  in  her  window,  she  lookeil  from  it  into  the  street, 
where  she  saw  the  shambling  parson  leering  up  at  her.  When  she 
saw  him  he  took  off  his  greasy  hat,  and  made  her  a  bow.  At  the 
moment  slie  saw  him,  she  felt  that  he  was  come  upon  some  errand 
hostile  to  Pliilip.  She  knew  he  m(!ant  mischief  as  he  looked  up 
with  that  sodden  face,  those  bloodshot  eyes,  those  unshorn  grin- 
ning lips. 

She  might  have  been  inclined  to  faint,  or  disposed  to  scream, 
or  to  hide  herself  from  the  man,  the  sight  of  whom  she  loathed. 
She  did  not  faint,  or  hide  herself,  or  cry  out :  but  she  instantly 
nodded  her  liead  and  smiled  in  the  most  engaging  manner  on  that 
unwelcome  dingy  stranger.  She  went  to  her  door;  she  opened  it 
(though  her  heart  beat  so  that  you  might  have  heard  it,  as  slie  told 
her  friend  afterwards).  She  stood  there  a  moment  archly  smiling 
at  him,  and  she  beckoned  him  into  her  house  witli  a  little  gesture 
of  welcome.  "  Law  bless  us "  (these,  I  have  reason  to  believe, 
were  her  very  words) — "Law  bless  us,  Mr.  Hunt,  wliere  ever  have 
you  been  this  ever  so  long?"  And  a  smiling  face  looked  at  liim 
resolutely  from  under  a  neat  cap  and  fresli  ril)bon.  Why,  I  know 
some  women  can  smile  and  look  at  ease  when  they  sit  (li)wn  in  a 
dentist's  chair. 

"  Law  bless  me,  Mr.  Hunt,"  tlien  says  the  artless  creature, 
"who  ever  woiild  have  thought  of  seeing  you,  I  do  declare  !  "  And 
she  makes  a  nice  cheery  little  curtsey,  and  looks  quite  gay,  pleased, 
and  pretty  ;  and  so  did  Judith  look  gay,  no  doubt,  and  smile  and 
prattle  before  Holofernes  ;  and  then  of  course  she  said,  "  Won't  you 
step  in  ? "  And  then  Hunt  swaggered  uj)  tlie  stei)s  of  the  house, 
and    entered   the   little  parlour,    into  which   the   kind   reader  has 


568  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

often  been  conducted,  with  its  neat  little  ornaments,  its  pic- 
tures, its  glistening  corner  cupboard,  and  its  well-scrubbed  shining 
furniture. 

"  How  is  the  Captain  1 "  asks  the  man  (alone  in  the  company 
of  this  Little  Sister,  tlie  fellow's  own  heart  began  to  beat,  and  his 
bloodshot  eyes  to  glisten). 

He  had  not  heard  about  poor  pa'?  "That  shows  how  long  you 
have  been  away  ! "  Mrs.  Brandon  remarks,  and  mentions  the  date 
of  her  fixther's  fatal  illness.  Yes  :  slie  was  alone  now,  an<l  had  to 
care  for  herself;  and  straightway,  I  have  no  doubt,  Mrs.  Brandon 
asked  Mr.  Hunt  whether  he  would  "  take  "  anything.  Indeed,  that 
good  little  woman  was  for  ever  pressing  her  friends  to  "  take " 
something,  and  would  have  thought  the  laws  of  hospitality  violated 
unless  she  had  made  this  offer. 

Hunt  was  never  known  to  refuse  a  proposal  of  this  sort.  He 
would  take  a  taste  of  something — of  something  warm.  He  had 
had  fever  and  ague  at  New  York,  and  the  malady  hung  about  him. 
Mrs.  Brandon  was  straightway  very  much  interested  to  hear  about 
Mr.  Hunt's  complaint,  and  knew  that  a  comfortable  glass  was  very 
efficacious  in  removing  tlireatening  fever.  Her  nimble  neat  little 
hands  mixed  him  a  cup.  He  could  not  but  see  what  a  trim  little 
housekeeper  she  was.  "  Ah,  Mrs.  Brandon,  if  I  had  had  such  a 
kind  friend  watching  over  me,  I  should  not  be  such  a  wreck  as  I 
am  ! "  he  sighed.  He  must  have  advanced  to  a  second,  nay,  a 
third  glass,  when  he  sighed  and  became  sentimental  regarding  his 
own  unhappy  condition  ;  and  Brandon  owned  to  her  friends  after- 
wards that  she  made  those  glasses  very  strong. 

Having  "  taken  something,"  in  considerable  quantities,  then. 
Hunt  condescended  to  ask  how  his  hostess  was  getting  on,  and 
how  were  her  lodgers  ?  How  she  was  getting  on  ?  Brandon  drew 
the  most  cheerful  picture  of  herself  and  her  circumstances.  The 
apartments  let  well,  and  were  never  empty.  Thanks  to  good  Dr. 
Goodenough  and  other  friends,  she  had  as  much  professional  occu- 
pation as  she  could  desire.  Since  you  know  who  has  left  the 
country,  she  said,  her  mind  had  been  ever  so  much  easier.  As  long 
as  he  was  near,  she  never  felt  secure.  But  he  was  gone,  and  bad 
luck  go  with  hira  !  said  this  vindictive  Little  Sister. 

"Was  his  son  still  lodging  upstairs  1"  asked  Mr.  Hunt. 

On  this,  what  does  Mrs.  Brandon  do  but  begin  a  naost  angry 
attack  upon  Philip  and  his  family.  He  lodge  there?  No,  thank 
goodness  !  She  had  had  enough  of  him  and  his  wife,  with  her  airs 
and  graces,  and  the  children  crying  all  night,  and  the  furniture 
spoiled,  and  the  bills  not  even  paid  !  "  I  wanted  him  to  think  that 
me  and  Philip  was    friends    no    longer ;    and    Heaven  forgive  me 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     569 

for  tolling  stories  !  I  know  this  fellow  means  no  good  to  Philip ; 
and  before  long  I  will  know  what  he  means,  that  I  will,"  she 
vowed. 

For,  on  the  very  day  when  Mr.  Hunt  paid  her  a  visit,  Mrs. 
Brandon  came  to  see  Philip's  friends,  and  acquaint  them  with 
Hunt's  arrival.  We  could  not  be  sure  that  he  was  the  bearer  of 
the  forged  liill  with  which  poor  Piiilip  was  threatened.  As  yet 
Hunt  had  made  no  allusion  to  it.  But,  though  we  are  far  from 
sanctioning  deceit  or  hypocrisy,  we  own  that  we  were  not  verij 
angry  with  the  Little  Sister  for  employing  dissimulation  in  the 
present  instance,  and  inducing  Hunt  to  believe  that  she  was  by 
no  means  an  accomplice  of  Philip.  If  Philip's  wife  pai'doned  her, 
ought  his  friends  to  be  less  forgiving  1  To  do  right,  you  know  you 
must  not  do  wrong ;  though  I  own  this  was  one  of  the  cases  in 
which  I  am  inclined  not  to  deal  very  hardly  with  the  well-meaning 
little  criminal. 

Now,  Chai'lotte  had  to  pardon  (and  for  tins  foidt,  if  not  for 
some  others,  Charlotte  did  most  heartily  pardon)  our  little  friend, 
for  this  reason,  that  Brandon  most  wantonly  maligned  her.  When 
Hunt  asked  what  sort  of  wife  Plnlip  had  married,  Mrs.  Brandon 
declared  that  Mrs.  Phili])  was  a  pert  odious  little  thing  ;  that  she 
gave  herself  airs,  neglected  lier  children,  Imllied  her  husband,  and 
what  not ;  and,  finally,  Brandon  vowed  that  she  disliked  Charlotte, 
and  was  very  glad  to  get  her  out  of  tlie  house  ;  and  that  Philip 
was  not  the  same  Philip  since  he  married  her,  and  that  he  gjive 
himself  airs,  and  was  rude,  and  in  all  things  led  by  his  wife ;  and 
to  get  rid  of  them  was  a  good  riddance. 

Hunt  gracefully  suggested  that  quarrels  between  landladies  and 
tenants  were  not  unusual ;  that  lodgers  sometimes  did  not  jiay 
their  rent  punctually  ;  that  others  were  unreasonably  anxious  about 
the  consumjition  of  their  groceries,  liquors,  and  so  forth  :  ;uid  little 
Brandon,  who,  rather  than  steal  a  pennyworth  from  her  Pliilij), 
would  have  cut  her  hand  (ttF,  laughed  at  her  guest's  joke,  and  })re- 
tended  to  be  amused  with  his  knowing  hints  that  she  was  a  rogue. 
There  was  not  a  word  he  said  but  she  received  it  with  a  gracious 
acquiescence  :  she  might  shudder  inwardly  at  the  leering  familiarity 
of  the  odious  tipsy  wretch,  but  she  gave  no  outward  sign  of  disgust 
or  fear.  She  allowed  him  to  talk  as  much  as  he  would,  in  liopes 
that  he  woidd  come  to  a  subject  which  deeply  interested  her.  She 
asked  about  the  Doctor,  and  Avhat  he  was  doing,  and  whether  it 
was  lik(!ly  that  he  would  ever  be  able  to  pay  back  any  of  that 
money  which  he  had  taken  from  his  son  ?  And  she  spoke  with 
an  indifferent  tone,  jiretending  to  be  very  busy  over  some  work 
at  which  she  was  stitching. 


570  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"Oh,  you  are  still  hankering  after  him,"  says  the  chaplain, 
winking  a  bloodshot  eye. 

"  Hankering  after  that  old  man  !     What  should  I  care  for  him  1 

As  if  he  haven't  done  me  harm  enough  already  !  "  cries  poor  Caroline. 

"  Yes.     But  women  don't  dislike  a  man  the  worse  for  a  little 

ill-usage,"  suggests  Hunt.     No  doubt  the  fellow  had  made  his  own 

experiments  on  woman's  fidelity. 

"Well,  I  suppose,"  says  Brandon,  with  a  toss  of  her  head, 
"  women  may  get  tired  as  well  as  men,  mayn't  they  1  I  found  out 
that  man,  and  wearied  of  him  years  and  years  ago.  Another  little 
drop  out  of  the  green  bottle,  Mr.  Hunt !  It's  very  good  for  ague- 
fever,  and  keeps  the  cold  fit  off  wonderful !  " 

And  Hunt  drank,  and  he  talked  a  little  more— much  more : 
and  he  gave  his  opinion  of  the  elder  Firmin,  and  spoke  of  his 
chances  of  success,  and  of  his  rage  for  speculations,  and  doubted 
whether  he  would  ever  be  able  to  lift  his  head  again — though  he 
might,  he  might  still.  He  was  in  the  country  where,  if  ever  a 
man  could  retrieve  himself,  he  had  a  chance.  And  Philip  was 
giving  himself  airs,  was  hel  He  was  always  an  arrogant  chap, 
that  Mr.  Philip.  And  he  had  left  her  house  1  and  was  gone  ever 
so  long  1  and  where  did  he  live  now  f 

Then  I  am  sorry  to  say  Mrs.  Brandon  asked,  how  should  she 
know  where  Philip  lived  nowl  She  believed  it  was  near  Gray's 
Inn,  or  Lincoln's  Inn,  or  somewhere ;  and  she  was  for  turning  the 
conversation  away  from  tliis  subject  altogether ;  and  sought  to  do 
so  by  many  lively  remarks  and  ingenious  little  artifices  which  I  can 
imagine,  but  which  she  only  in  part  acknowledged  to  me,  for  you 
must  know  that  as  soon  as  her  visitor  took  leave — to  turn  into  the 
"Admiral  Byng"  public-house,  and  renew  acquaintance  with  the 
worthies  assembled  in  the  parlour  of  tliat  tavern— Mrs.  Brandon  ran 
away  to  a  cab,  drove  in  it  to  Philip's  house  in  Milnian  Street,  where 
only  Mrs.  Philip  was  at  home,  and  after  a  banale  conversation 
with  her,  which  puzzled  Charlotte  not  a  little,  for  Brandon  would 
not  say  on  what  errand  she  came,  and  never  mentioned  Hunt's 
arrival  and  visit  to  her,  the  Little  Sister  made  her  way  to  another 
cab,  and  presently  made  her  appearance  at  the  house  of  Philip's 
friends  in  Queen  Square.  And  here  she  informed  me  how  Hunt 
had  arrived,  and  how  she  was  sure  he  meant  no  good  to  Philip,  and 
how  she  had  told  certain— certain  stories  which  were  not  founded 
in  fact— to  Mr.  Hunt ;  for  the  telling  of  which  fibs  I  am  not  about 
to  endeavour  to  excuse  her. 

Though  the  interesting  clergyman  had  not  said  one  word  regard- 
ing that  bill  of  wluch  Philip's  father  had  warned  him,  we  believed 
that  the  document  was  in  Hunt's  possession,  and  that  it  would  be 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROITGH    THE    WORLD     571 

produced  in  due  season.  We  liappened  to  know  where  Philip  dined, 
and  sent  him  word  to  come  to  us. 

"  What  can  he  mean  1 "  the  people  asked  at  the  table — a 
bachelors'  table  at  the  Temple  (for  Philip's  good  wife  actually 
encouraged  him  to  go  abroad  from  time  to  time,  and  make  merry 
with  his  friends).  "  What  can  this  mean  1 "  and  they  read  out  the 
scrap  of  paper  which  he  had  cast  doAvn  as  he  was  summoned  aAvay. 

Philip's  correspondent  wrote  : — 

"  Dear  Philip, — I  believe  the  bearer  of  the  bowstring  has 
arrived ;  and  has  been  with  the  L.  S.  this  very  day." 

The  L.  S.  ?  the  bearer  of  the  bowstring  1  Not  one  of  the 
bachelors  dining  in  Parchment  Buildings  couhl  read  the  riddle. 
Only  after  receiving  the  scrap  of  paper  Philip  had  jumped  up  and 
left  the  room  :  and  a  friend  of  ours,  a  sly  wag  and  Don  Juan  of 
Pump  Court,  offered  to  take  odds  that  there  was  a  lady  in  the  case. 

At  the  hasty  little  council  which  was  convened  at  our  house  on 
the  receipt  of  the  news,  the  Little  Sister,  whose  instinct  had  not 
betrayed  her,  wns  made  acquainted  with  the  precise  nature  of  the 
danger  which  menaced  Philip ;  and  exhibited  a  fine  hearty  wrath 
when  she  heard  how  he  proposed  to  meet  the  enemy.  He  had  a 
certain  sum  in  hand.  He  would  borrow  more  of  his  friends,  who 
knew  that  he  was  an  honest  man.  This  bill  he  would  meet, 
whatever  might  come ;  and  avert  at  least  this  disgrace  from  his 
father. 

What?  Give  in  to  those  rogues?  Leave  his  children  to  starve, 
and  his  poor  wife  to  turn  drudge  and  house-servant,  who  was  not 
fit  for  anything  but  a  fine  la.dy  1  (There  was  no  love  lost,  you  see, 
between  these  two  ladies,  who  both  loved  Mr.  Phili)).)  It  was  a 
sin  and  a  shame  !  Mrs.  Brandon  averred,  and  declared  she  thought 
Philip  had  been  a  man  of  more  spirit.  Philip's  friend  has  Ijcfore 
stated  his  own  private  sentiments  regarding  the  calamity  whi('h 
menaced  Firmin.  To  pay  this  bill  was  to  bring  a  diizen  more  down 
upon  him.  Philip  might  as  well  resist  now  as  at  a  later  day. 
Such,  in  fact,  was  the  opinion  given  by  the  reader's  very  humble 
servant  at  command. 

My  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  took  Philip's  side.  She  was  very 
much  moved  at  his  announcement  that  he  wouhl  forgive  his  father 
this  once  at  least,  and  endeavour  to  cover  his  sin. 

"As  you  ho])e  to  be  forgiven  yourself,  dear  I'hilip,  I  am  sure 
you  are  doing  right,"  Laura  said;  "I  am  sure  Charlotte  will 
think  so." 

"  Oh,  Chaiiuttc,  Charlotte  ! "  interposes  the  Lillle  Sister,  rather 


572  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

peevishly  ;  "  of  course,  Mrs.   Philip  thinks  whatever  her  husband 
tells  her !  " 

"  In  his  own  time  of  trial  Philip  has  been  met  Avith  wonderful 
succour  and  kindness,"  Laura  urged.  "  See  how  one  thing  after 
another  has  contributed  to  help  him !  When  he  wanted,  there 
were  friends  always  at  his  need.  If  he  wants  again,  I  am  sure  my 
husband  and  I  will  share  with  him."  (I  may  have  made  a  wry 
face  at  this  ;  for  with  the  best  feelings  towards  a  man,  and  that 
kind  of  thing,  you  know  it  is  not  always  convenient  to  be  lending 
him  five  or  six  hundred  pounds  without  security.)  "My  dear 
husband  and  I  will  share  with  him,"  goes  on  Mrs.  Laura ;  "  won't 
we,  Arthur  ?  Yes,  Brandon,  that  we  will.  Be  sure,  Charlotte  and 
the  ciiildren  shall  not  want  because  Philip  covers  his  ftither's  wrong, 
and  hides  it  from  the  world  !  God  l)less  you,  dear  friend  !  "  and 
what  does   this  woman   do   next,  and   before  her  husband's  face] 

Actually  she  goes  up  to  Philip  ;  she  takes  his  hand — and Well, 

what  took  place  before  my  own  eyes,  I  do  not  choose  to  write  down. 
"She's  encouraging  him  to  ruin  the  children  for  the  sake  of 
that— that  wicked  old  brute  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon.  "  It's  enough 
to  provoke  a  saint,  it  is  !  "  And  she  seizes  up  her  bonnet  from  the 
table,  and  claps  it  on  her  head,  and  walks  out  of  the  room  in  a 
little  tempest  of  wrath. 

My  wife,  clasping  her  hands,  whispers  a  few  words,  which  say  : 
"Forgive  us  our  trespasses,  as  we  forgive  them  who  trespass 
against  us." 

"  Yes,"  says  Philip,  very  much  moved.  "  It  is  the  Divine 
order.  You  are  right,  dear  Laura.  I  have  had  a  weary  time  ; 
and  a  terrible  gloom  of  doubt  and  sadness  over  my  mind  whilst  I 
have  been  debating  this  matter,  and  before  I  had  determined  to  do 
as  you  would  have  me.  But  a  great  weight  is  off  my  heart  since 
I  have  been  enabled  to  see  what  my  conduct  should  be.  What 
hundreds  of  struggling  men  as  well  as  myself  have  met  with  losses, 
and  faced  them  !  I  will  pay  this  bill,  and  I  will  warn  the  drawer 
to  — to  spare  me  for  the  future." 

Now  that  the  Little  Sister  had  gone  away  in  her  fit  of  indigna- 
tion, you  see  I  was  left  in  a  minority  in  the  council  of  war,  and 
the  opposition  was  quite  too  strong  for  me.  I  began  to  be  of  the 
majority's  opinion.  I  daresay  I  am  not  the  only  gentleman  who 
has  been  led  round  by  a  woman.  We  men  of  great  strength  of 
mind  very  frequently  are.  Yes :  my  wife  convinced  me  with 
passages  from  her  text-book,  admitting  of  no  contradiction  accord- 
ing to  her  judgment,  that  Philip's  duty  was  to  forgive  his  father. 

"  And  how  lucky  it  was  we  did  not  l)uy  the  chintzes  that  day!" 
says  Laura,  with  a' laugh.     "Do  you  know  there  were  two  which 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     573 

were  so  pretty  tluit  Charlotte  could  not  make  up  her  luiud  which 
of  the  two  she  would  take  1 " 

Philip  roared  out  one  of  his  laughs,  which  made  the  windows 
shake.  He  was  in  great  spirits.  For  a  man  who  was  going  to 
ruin  himself,  he  was  in  the  most  enviable  good-humour.  Did 
Charlotte  know  about  this — this  claim  which  was  impending  over 
him"?  No.  It  miglit  make  her  anxious, — poor  little  thing  !  Philip 
had  not  told  her.  He  had  thought  of  concealing  the  matter  from 
her.  What  need  was  there  to  disturb  her  rest,  poor  innocent  child  1 
You  see,  we  all  treated  Mrs.  Charlotte  more  or  less  like  a  cliild. 
Philip  played  with  her.  J.  J.,  the  painter,  coaxed  and  chuidled 
her,  so  to  speak.  The  Little  Sister  loved  her,  but  certainly  with  a 
love  that  was  not  respectful ;  and  Charlotte  took  everybody's  good- 
will with  a  pleasant  meekness  and  sweet  smiling  content.  It  was 
not  for  Laura  to  give  advice  to  man  and  wife  (as  if  the  woman  was 
not  always  giving  lectures  to  Philip  and  his  young  wife  !)  :  but  in 
the  present  instance  she  thought  Mrs.  Philip  certainly  ought  to 
know  what  Philip's  real  situation  was  ;  what  danger  M^as  menacing  ; 
"  and  how  admirable  and  right,  and  Christian — and  you  will  have 
your  reward  for  it,  dear  Philip  !  "  interjects  the  enthusiastic  lady — 
"  your  conduct  has  been  !  " 

When  we  came,  as  we  straightway  did  in  a  cab,  to  Charlotte's 
house,  to  expound  the  matter  to  her,  goodness  bless  us  !  siie  was 
not  shocked,  or  anxious,  or  frightened  at  all.  Mrs.  Brandon  had 
just  been  with  iier,  and  told  her  of  what  was  happening,  and  she 
had  said,  "  Of  course,  Philip  ought  to  helj)  his  father  :  and  Brandim 
had  gone  away  (juite  in  a  tantrum  of  anger,  and  had  really  been 
quite  rude  ;  and  she  should  not  pardon  her,  only  she  kiicAv  how 
(iearly  the  Little  Sister  loved  Philip ;  and  of  course  they  nuist  helji 
Dr.  Firmin  ;  and  what  dreadful  dreadful  distress  he  nuist  have 
been  in  to  do  as  he  did  !  But  he  had  warned  Philip,  you  know," 
and  so  forth.  "  And  as  for  the  chintzes,  Laura,  why  I  suppose  we 
must  go  (in  with  tlie  old  shabby  covers.  You  know  they  will  do 
very  well  till  next  year."  Tiiis  was  the  way  in  which  Mrs.  Charlotte 
received  the  news  which  Philip  had  concealed  I'rom  her,  lest  it  should 
terrify  her.  As  if  a  loving  woman  was  ever  very  much  frighteneil 
at  being  called  upon  to  share  her  liusband's  misfortune  ! 

As  for  the  little  case  of  forgery,  I  don't  ])elieve  the  young  jterson 
could  ever  be  gi)t  to  see  the  heinous  nature  of  Dr.  Firniin's  offence. 
The  desperate  little  logician  .seemed  rather  to  i)ity  the  father  than 
the  son  in  the  business.  "  How  dreadfully  })resscd  he  must  have 
been  when  he  did  it,  poor  man  !  "  she  said.  "  To  be  sure,  he  ought 
not  to  have  done  it  at  all  ;  but  think  of  liis  necessity  !  That  is 
what  I  said  to  Brandon.     Now,  there's  little  Philip's  cake  in  the 


574  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Clipboard  whicli  you  brought  liiin.  Now  suppose  papa  was  very 
hungry,  and  went  and  took  some  without  asking  Philly,  he  wouldn't 
be  so  very  wrong,  I  think,  would  he  1  A  child  is  glad  enough  to 
give  for  his  father,  isn't  he?  And  when  I  said  this  to  Brandon, 
she  was  so  rude  and  violent,  I  really  have  no  patience  with  her  ! 
And  she  forgets  that  I  am  a  lady,  and  "  &c.  &c.  So  it  ajjpeared 
the  Little  Sister  had  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  bring  over 
Charlotte  to  her  side,  was  still  minded  to  rescue  Philip  in  spite  of 
himself,  and  had  gone  off  in  wrath  at  her  defeat. 

We  looked  to  the  Doctor's  letters,  and  ascertained  the  date  of  the 
bill.  It  had  crossed  the  water  and  would  be  at  Philip's  door  in 
a  very  few  days.  Had  Hunt  brought  it  1  The  rascal  would  have 
it  presented  through  some  regular  channel,  no  doubt;  and  Philip 
and  all  of  us  totted  up  ways  and  means,  and  strove  to  make  the 
slender  figures  look  as  big  as  possible,  as  the  thrifty  housewife  puts 
a  patch  here  and  a  darn  there,  and  cuts  a  little  slice  out  of  this 
old  garment,  so  as  to  make  the  poor  little  frock  serve  for  winter 
wear.  We  had  so  much  at  the  banker's.  A  friend  might  help 
with  a  little  advance.  We  would  fairly  ask  a  loan  from  the 
Reviev.  We  were  in  a  scrape,  but  we  would  meet  it.  And  so 
with  resolute  hearts,  we  would  prepare  to  receive  the  Bearer  of 
the  Bowstring. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE    BEARER   OF  THE  BOIFSTRIKG 

THE  poor  Little  Sister  trudged  away  from  Milinan  Street 
exasperated  with  Philip,  with  Pliilip's  wife,  and  with  the 
determination  of  the  pair  to  accept  tlie  hopeless  ruin  impend- 
ing over  them.  "Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  pounds  four  and 
threepence,"  she  thouglit,  "to  pay  for  that  wicked  old  villain  !  It  is 
more  than  poor  Philip  is  wortli,  with  all  his  savings  and  his  little 
sticks  of  furniture.  I  know  what  he  will  do  :  he  will  borrow  of  the 
money-lenders,  and  give  those  bills,  and  renew  them,  and  end  by  ruin. 
When  he  have  })aid  this  bill,  that  old  villain  will  forge  another, 
and  that  precious  wife  of  his  will  tell  him  to  pay  that,  I  sup])ose ; 
and  those  little  darlings  will  be  begging  for  bread,  unless  they 
come  and  eat  mine,  to  which — God  bless  them  ! — they  are  always 
welcome."  She  calculated — it  was  a  sum  not  difficult  to  reckon — 
the  amount  of  her  own  little  store  of  saved  ready  money.  To 
pay  four  lumdred  pounds  out  of  such  an  income  as  Philip's,  she 
felt,  was  an  attemjjt  vain  and  imp()s.sil)]e.  "  And  lie  mustn't  have 
my  poor  little  stocking  now,"  she  argued  ;  "  they  will  want  that 
presently  when  tlieir  i)ride  is  broken  down,  as  it  will  be,  and  my 
darlings  are  hungering  for  their  dinner  ! "  Revolving  this  dismal 
matter  in  her  mind,  and  scarce  knowing  where  to  go  for  comfort 
and  counsel,  she  made  her  way  to  her  good  friend,  D]-.  (!ood- 
enough,  and  found  that  worthy  man,  who  liad  always  a  welcome 
for  his  Little  Sister. 

She  found  Goodenougii  alone  in  liis  great  dining-room,  taking  a 
very  slender  meal,  after  visiting  his  hospital  anil  his  fifty  j)ationts, 
among  whom  I  tliink  there  were  more  jK)or  than  rich  :  and  the  good 
sleepy  Doctor  woke  u|)  with  a  vengeance,  when  lie  heaid  his  little 
nurse's  news,  and  tired  off  a  volley  of  angry  language  against  Philip 
and  his  scoundrel  of  a  father  ;  "  which  it  was  a  comloit  to  liear 
him,"  little  Brandon  told  us  afterwards.  Then  (jloodenough  trotted 
out  of  the  dining-room  into  the  adjoining  library  and  consnlting- 
room,  whither  his  old  friend  followed  him.  Tlien  he  pulle<l  out  a 
bunch  of  keys  and  opened  a  secretaire,  from  which  lie  took  a 
parchment-covered  vohime,  on  wliirh  /'.  Goodeiwmjh,  Ks<j.,  M.D.y 


576  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

was  written  in  a  fine  legible  hand — and  which,  in  fact,  was  a 
banker's  book.  The  inspection  of  the  MS.  volume  in  question 
must  have  pleased  the  worthy  physician ;  for  a  grin  came  over  his 
venerable  features,  and  he  straiglitway  drew  out  of  the  desk  a  slim 
volume  of  grey  paper,  on  each  page  of  which  were  inscribed  tlie 
highly  respectable  names  of  Messrs.  Stumpy  and  Rowdy  and  Co., 
of  Lombard  Street,  Bankers.  On  a  slip  of  grey  paper  the  Doctor 
wrote  a  prescription  for  a  draught,  statim  sumendus — (a  draught — 
mark  my  pleasantry) — which  he  handed  over  to  his  little  friend. 

"  There,  you  little  fool ! "  said  he.  "  The  father  is  a  rascal, 
but  the  boy  is  a  fine  fellow  ;  and  you,  you  little  silly  thing,  I  must 
help  in  this  business  myself,  or  you  will  go  and  ruin  yourself,  I 
know  you  will !  Offer  this  to  the  fellow  for  his  bill.  Or  stay  ! 
How  much  money  is  there  in  the  liouse  ?  Perhaps  the  sight  of 
notes  and  gold  will  tempt  him  more  than  a  cheque."  And  the 
Doctor  emptied  his  pockets  of  all  the  fees  which  happened  to  be 
therein — I  don't  know  how  many  fees  of  shining  shillings  and 
sovereigns,  neatly  wrapped  up  in  paper  ;  and  he  emptied  a  drawer 
in  wiiich  there  was  more  silver  and  gold  :  and  he  trotted  up  to  his 
bedroom,  and  came  panting,  presently,  downstairs  with  a  fat  little 
pocket-book  containing  a  bundle  of  notes,  and  with  one  thing  or 
another,  he  made  up  a  sum  of — I  won't  mention  what ;  but  this 
sum  of  money,  I  say,  he  thrust  into  the  Little  Sister's  hand,  and 
said,  "  Try  the  fellow  with  this.  Little  Sister,  and  see  if  you  can 
get  the  bill  from  him.  Don't  say  it's  my  money,  or  the  scoundrel 
will  be  for  having  twenty  shillings  in  the  pound.  Say  it's  yours, 
and  there's  no  more  where  that  came  from  ;  and  coax  him,  and 
wheedle  him,  and  tell  him  plenty  of  lies,  my  dear.  It  won't  break 
your  heart  to  do  that.  What  an  immortal  scoundrel  Brummell 
Firmin  is,  to  be  sure  !     Though,  by  the  way,  in  two  more  cases  at 

the  hospital  I  have  tried  that "     And  here  the  Doctor  went  off 

into  a  professional  conversation  with  his  favourite  nurse,  which  I 
could  not  presume  to  repeat  to  any  non-medical  men. 

The  Little  Sister  bade  God  bless  Doctor  Goodenough,  and  wiped 
her  glistening  eyes  with  her  handkerchief,  and  put  away  tlie  notes 
and  gold  with  a  trembling  little  hand,  and  trudged  off  with  a  light- 
some step  and  a  happy  heart.  Arrived  at  Tottenham  Court  Road, 
she  thought,  shall  I  go  home,  or  shall  I  go  to  poor  Mrs.  Philip  and 
take  her  this  money  ?  No.  Their  talk  that  day  had  not  been  very 
pleasant :  words,  very  like  high  words,  had  passed  between  them, 
and  our  Little  Sister  had  to  own  to  herself  that  she  had  been  rather 
rude  in  her  late  colloquy  with  Charlotte.  And  she  was  a  proud 
Little  Sister  :  at  least  slie  did  not  care  for  to  own  that  she  had 
been  hasty  or  disrespectful  in  lier  conduct  to  that  young  woman. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     577 

She  had  too  much  sjjirit  for  that.  Have  we  ever  said  that  our  little 
friend  was  exempt  from  tlie  prejudices  and  vanities  of  this  wicke(l 
world  1  Well,  to  rescue  Philip,  to  secure  the  fatal  bill,  to  .t,'o  with 
it  to  Charlotte,  and  say,  "  There,  Mrs.  Philip,  there's  your  husband's 
liberty."  It  would  be  a  rare  triumph,  that  it  would  !  And  Philip 
would  promise,  on  his  honour,  that  this  should  be  the  last  and  only 
bill  he  would  pay  for  that  wretched  old  father.  With  these  hapi)y 
thoughts  swelling  in  her  little  heart,  Mrs.  Brandon  made  her  way 
to  the  familiar  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  would  have  a  little 
bit  of  su])])er,  so  slie  would.  And  laid  her  own  little  cloth  ;  and 
set  forth  lier  little  forks  and  sjioons,  wliich  were  as  bright  as  rubbing 
could  make  them  ;  and  I  am  authorised  to  state  that  her  repast 
consisted  of  two  nice  little  landj  chops,  which  she  purchased  from 
her  neighbour,  Mr.  Chump,  in  Tottenham  Court  Road,  after  a 
l)l(!asant  little  conversaticjn  with  that  gentleman  and  his  good  lady. 
And,  with  her  bit  of  supjter,  after  a  day's  work,  our  little  friend 
would  sometimes  indulge  in  a  glass — a  little  glass — of  something 
comfortable.  The  case-bottle  Avas  in  the  cupboard,  out  of  which  her 
poor  pa  had  been  wont  to  mix  his  tumblers  for  many  a  long  day. 
So,  having  prepared  it  with  her  own  hands,  down  she  sat  to  her 
little  meal,  tired  and  happy ;  and  as  she  thought  of  the  occurrences 
of  the  day,  and  of  the  rescue  which  had  come  so  oii})ortunely  to  her 
beloved  Philip  and  his  children,  I  am  sure  she  said  a  grace  before 
her  meat. 

Her  candles  being  lighted  and  her  blind  up,  any  one  in  the  street 
could  see  that  her  chaml)er  was  occupied;  and  at  about  ten  o'clock 
at  night  tliere  came  a  heavy  step  clinking  along  the  pavement,  the 
sound  of  which,  I  have  no  doubt,  made  the  Little  Sister  start  a 
little.  The  heavy  foot  paused  before  her  window,  and  presently 
clattered  up  the  steps  of  her  door.  Tlien,  as  her  bell  rang — I 
consider  it  is  most  probable  that  her  cheek  flushed  a  little — she  went 
to  her  hall-door  and  opened  it  herself  "  Lor',  is  it  you,  Mr.  Hunt  1 
Well,  I  never  !  that  is,  I  thouglit  you  might  come.  Really,  now  " — 
and  with  the  moonlight  behind  him,  the  dingy  Hunt  swaggered  in. 

"  How  comfortal)l(>  you  looked  at  your  little  table  !  "  says  Hunt, 
with  his  hat  over  his  eye. 

"Won't  you  stcj)  in  and  sit  down  to  it,  and  take  something'?" 
asks  the  smiling  hostess. 

Of  course.  Hunt  would  take  something.  And  the  greasy  hat  is 
takeri  off  his  head  with  a  flourish,  and  he  struts  into  the  ]»o()r  Little 
Sister's  little  room,  pulling  a  wisj)  of  grizzling  hair,  and  emleavouring 
to  assiunc  a  careless  fashionable  look.  The  dingy  hand  had  seized 
tlie  case-bottle  in  a  moment.  "What  !  you  do  a  little  in  this  way, 
do  you?"  he  savs,  and  winks  aiiiialilv  at  Mi-s.  Brandon  and  the 
11  ■  ■  2  0 


578  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

bottle.  She  takes  ever  so  little,  she  owns ;  and  reminds  him  of 
days  which  he  must  remember,  when  she  had  a  wine-glass  out  of 
poor  pa's  tumbler.  A  bright  little  kettle  is  singing  on  the  fire, — 
will  not  Mr.  Hunt  mix  a  glass  for  himselfl  She  takes  a  bright 
beaker  from  the  corner  cupboard,  which  is  near  her,  with  her  keys 
hanging  from  it. 

"  Oh — ho  !  that's  where  we  keep  the  ginnims,  is  it  1 "  says  the 
graceful  Hunt,  with  a  laugh. 

"  My  ])apa  always  kept  it  there,"  says  Caroline  meekly.  And 
whilst  her  back  is  turned  to  fetch  a  canister  from  the  cupboard,  she 
knows  that  the  astute  Mr.  Hunt  has  taken  the  opi)ortunity  to  fill 
a  good  large  measure  from  the  square  bottle.  "Make  yourself 
welcome,"  says  the  Little  Sister,  in  her  gay  artless  way ;  "  there's 
more  where  that  came  from  ! "  And  Hunt  drinks  his  hostess's 
health ;  and  she  bows  to  him,  and  smiles,  and  sips  a  little  from  her 
own  glass ;  and  the  little  lady  looks  quite  pretty,  and  rosy,  and 
bright.  Her  cheeks  are  like  apples,  her  figure  is  trim  and  graceful, 
and  always  attired  in  the  neatest-fitting  gown.  By  the  comfortable 
light  of  the  candles  on  her  sparkling  tables,  you  scarce  see  the  silver 
lines  in  her  light  hair,  or  the  marks  which  time  has  made  round  her 
eyes.     Hunt  gazes  on  her  with  admiration. 

"  Why,"  says  he,  "I  vow  you  look  younger  and  prettier  than 
when — when  I  saw  you  first." 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Hunt ! "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon,  with  a  flush  on  her 
cheek  wliich  becomes  it,  "  don't  recall  that  time,  or  that — that  wretch 
who  served  me  so  cruel !  " 

"  He  was  a  scoundrel,  Caroline,  to  treat  as  he  did  such  a  woman 
as  you  !  The  fellow  has  no  principle ;  he  was  a  bad  one  from  the 
beginning.  Why,  he  ruined  me  as  well  as  you :  got  me  to  play  ; 
run  me  into  debt  by  introducing  me  to  his  fine  companions.  I  was 
a  simple  young  fellow  then,  and  thought  it  was  a  fine  thing  to  live 
with  fellow-commoners  and  noblemen  who  drove  their  tandems  and 
gave  their  grand  dinners.  It  was  he  that  led  me  astray,  I  tell  you. 
I  might  have  been  Fellow  of  my  college — had  a  living — married 
a  good  Avife — risen  to  be  a  bishoj),  by  George ! — for  I  had  great 
talents,  Caroline  ;  only  I  was  so  confounded  idle,  and  fond  of  the 
cards  and  the  bones." 

"  The  bones  1 "  cries  Caroline,  with  a  bewildered  look. 

"  The  dice,  my  dear !  '  Seven's  the  main '  was  my  ruin. 
'  Seven's  the  main,'  and  eleven's  the  nick  to  seven.  That  used  to 
be  the  little  game  !  "  And  he  ma<le  a  graceful  gesture  with  his 
empty  wine-glass,  as  though  he  were  tossing  a  pair  of  dice  on  the 
table.  "  Tlie  man  next  to  me  in  lecture  is  a  bishop  now,  and  I 
could  knock  his  head  off  in  Greek  iambics  and  Latin  hexameters 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      579 

too.  In  my  second  year  I  got  the  Latin  declamation  prize,  I  tell 
you " 

"  Brandon  always  said  you  were  one  of  the  cleverest  men  at  the 
college.  He  always  said  that,  I  rememl)er,"  remarks  the  lady,  very 
respectfully. 

"Did  hel  He  did  say  a  good  word  for  nie  then?  Brummell 
Firniin  wasn't  a  clever  man  ;  he  wasn't  a  reading  man.  Whereas  I 
wouhl  back  myself  for  a  Sa])phic  ode  against  any  man  in  my  college 
— against  any  man  !  Thank  you.  You  do  mix  it  so  uncommon 
hot  and  well,  there's  no  saying  no ;  indeed,  tliere  ain't !  Thougli  I 
have  had  enough — upon  my  honour,  I  have." 

"Lor'!  I  thought  you  men  could  drink  anything!  And  ]\Ir. 
Brandon — Mr.  Firmin  you  said % " 

"Well,  I  said  Brummel  Firniin  was  a  swell  somehow.  He  had 
a  sort  of  grand  manner  with  him " 

"  Yes,  he  had,"  sighed  Caroline.  And  I  tlaresay  lier  thoughts 
wandered  back  to  a  time  long  long  ago,  when  this  grand  gentleman 
had  captivated  her. 

"  And  it  was  trying  to  keep  up  with  liim  that  ruined  me  ! 
I  (puirrelled  with  my  i)Oor  old  governor  about  money,  of  course  ; 
grew  idle,  and  lost  my  fellowship.  Then  the  bills  came  down 
upon  me.  I  tell  you,  there  are  some  of  my  college  ticks  ain't 
paid  now." 

"  College  ticks  1     Law  !  "  ejaculates  the  lady.     "  And " 

"  Tailors'  ticks,  tavern  ticks,  livery-stal)lc  ticks — for  there  were 
famous  hacks  in  our  days,  and  I  used  to  hunt  with  the  tip-top  men. 
I  wasn't  bad  across  country,  I  wasn't.  But  we  can't  keej)  the  pace 
with  those  rich  fellows.  We  try,  and  they  go  ahead — they  ride  us 
down.  Do  you  think,  if  I  hadn't  been  very  hard  uji,  I  would  liave 
done  what  I  did  to  you,  Caroline?  You  ])oor  little  innocent  suticr- 
hig  thing.     It  was  a  shame.     It  was  a  shame  ! " 

"Yes,  a  shame  it  was,"  cries  Caroline.  "And  that  I  never 
gainsay.     You  did  deal  hard  with  a  poor  girl,  both  of  you." 

"  It  was  rascally.  But  Firmin  was  the  worst.  He  had  me  in 
his  power.  It  was  he  led  me  wrong.  It  was  he  drove  me  into 
debt,  and  then  abroad,  and  then  into  qu —  into  gaol,  perhaps :  and 
then  into  this  kind  of  thhig."  ("  This  kind  of  thing "  has  before 
been  exjilained  elegantly  to  signify  a  tumbler  of  hot  grog.)  "And 
my  fatlier  wouldn't  see  me  on  his  death-bed  :  and  my  brothers  and 
sisters  broke  witli  me  ;  and  I  owe  it  all  to  Brummell  Firmin — all. 
Do  you  think,  after  ruining  me,  he  oughtn't  to  pay  me?"  an<l  again 
lie  thumjis  a  dusky  hand  upon  the  table.  It  made  dingy  marks  on 
the  ])0()r  Little  Sister's  sputlcss  tablecloth.  It  nibbed  its  owner's 
forehead,  and  lank  grizzling  liair. 


580  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"And  me,  Mr.  Hunt?  Wlmt  do  he  owe  me]"  asks  Hunt's 
hostess. 

"Caroline!"  cries  Hunt,  "I  have  made  Brummel  Firmin  pay 
me  a  good  bit  back  already,  but  I'll  have  more ; "  and  he  thumped 
his  breast,  and  tlirust  his  hand  into  his  breast-pocket  as  he  spoke, 
and  clutched  at  sometliing  within. 

"  It  is  there  !  "  thouL^dit  C'aroline.  She  might  turn  pale  ;  but 
he  did  not  remark  her  pallor.  He  was  all  intent  on  drink,  on 
vanity,  on  revenge. 

"  I  have  him,  I  say.  He  owes  me  a  good  bit ;  and  he  has  paid 
me  a  good  bit ;  and  lie  shall  pay  me  a  good  bit  more.  Do  you 
think  I  am  a  fellow  who  will  be  ruined  and  insulted,  and  won't 
revenge  myself?  You  should  have  seen  his  face  when  I  turned 
up  at  New  York  at  the  '  Astor  House,'  and  said,  '  Brummell,  old 
fellow,  here  I  am,'  I  said  :  and  lie  turned  as  white — as  white  as 
this  tablecloth.  '  Fll  never  leave  you,  my  boy,'  I  said.  '  Other 
fellows  may  go  from  you,  but  old  Tom  Hunt  will  stick  to  you. 
Let's  go  into  the  bar  and  have  a  drink  ! '  and  he  was  obliged  to 
come.  And  I  have  him  now  in  my  power,  I  tell  you.  And  when 
I  say  to  him,  '  Brummell,  have  a  drink,'  drink  he  must.  His  bald 
old  head  must  go  into  the  pail ! "  And  Mr.  Hunt  laughed  a  laugh 
which  I  daresay  was  not  agreeable. 

After  a  pause  he  went  on :  "  Caroline  !  Do  you  hate  him,  I 
sayl  or  do  you  like  a  fellow  who  deserted  you  and  treated  j^ou 
like  a  scoundrel "?  Some  women  do.  I  could  tell  of  women  who 
do.  I  could  tell  you  of  other  fellows,  perhaps,  but  I  won't.  Do 
you  hate  Brummell  Firmin,  that  bald-headed  Brum — hypocrite, 
and  that — that  insolent  rascal  wlio  laid  his  hand  on  a  clergyman, 
and  an  old  man,  by  George,  and  hit  me — and  hit  me  in  that 
street  ?  Do  you  hate  him,  I  say  1  Hoo !  hoo !  hick  !  I've  got 
'em  both  ! — here,  in  my  pocket — both  !  " 

"You  have  got — whatl"  gasped  Caroline. 

"  I  have  got  theii' — hallo  !  stop,  what's  that  to  you  what  I've 
got?"  And  he  sinks  back  in  his  chair,  and  grins,  and  leers,  and 
triumpliantly  tosses  his  glass. 

"Well,  it  ain't  much  to  me;  I — I  never  got  any  good  out 
of  either  of  'em  yet,"  says  poor  Caroline,  with  a  sinking  heart. 
"  Let's  talk  about  somebody  else  than  them  two  plagues.  Because 
you  were  a  little  merry  one  niglit — and  I  don't  mind  what  a 
gentleman  says  when  he  has  had  a  glass — for  a  great  big  strong 
man  to  hit  an  old  one •" 

"  To  strike  a  clergyman  !  "  yells  Hunt. 

"  It  was  a  shame — a  cowardly  shame  !  And  I  gave  it  him  for 
it,  I  promise  you  !  "  cries  Mrs.  Brandon. 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     581 

"On  your  honour,  now,  do  you  hate  'cm?"  cries  Hunt,  start- 
ing up,  and  clenching  his  fist,  and  dropping  again  into  his  cliair. 

"Have  I  any  reason  to  love  'em,  Mr.  Hunt?  Do  sit  down  and 
have  a  little " 

"  No  :  you  have  no  reason  to  like  'cm.  You  hate  'em — I  hate 
'em.  Look  here.  Promise — 'pon  your  honour,  now,  Caroline — 
I've  got  'em  both,  I  tell  you.  Strike  a  clergyman,  will  he  1  What 
do  you  say  to  that  1 " 

And  starting  from  his  chair  imce  more,  and  supporting  himself 
against  the  wail  (where  hung  one  of  J.  J.'s  pictures  of  Philip), 
Hunt  pulls  out  the  greasy  pocket-book  once  more,  'and  fumbles 
amongst  the  greasy  contents  :  and  as  the  papers  flutter  on  to  the 
Hoor  and  the  table,  he  pounces  down  on  one  with  a  dingy  hand, 
and  yells  a  laugh,  and  says,  "  I've  cotched  you  !  That's  it.  What 
do  you  say  to  that  1 — '  London,  July  4th. — Five  months  after  date, 
I  i)romise  to  i)ay  to '     No,  you  don't." 

"La!  Mr.  Hunt,  won't  you  let  me  look  at  it?"  cries  the 
hostess.      "Whatever  is  it  ?     A  bill?     My  i)a  had  ])lenty  of  'em." 

"What?  with  candles  in  tlie  room?     No,  you  don't,  I  .say." 

"  What  is  it !     Won't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"  It's  the  young  one's  acceptance  of  the  old  man's  draft,"  says 
Hunt,  hissing  and  laughing. 

"For  how  much?" 

"  Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  four  three — that's  all ;  and  I 
guess  I  can  get  more  where  that  came  from  ! "  says  Hunt,  laughing 
more  and  more  cheerfully. 

"What  will  you  take  for  it?  I'll  buy  it  of  you,"  cries  the 
Little  Sister.  "I — I've  seen  plenty  of  my  i)a's  liills  ;  and  Til — 
I'll  discount  this,  if  you  like." 

"What!  are  you  a  little  discounter?  Is  that  the  way  you 
make  your  money,  and  the  silver  si)Ooiis,  and  the  nice  supper,  and 
cverytiiing  delightful  about  you?  A  little  discountess,  are  you— 
you  little  rogue  ?  Little  discountess,  l)y  George  !  How  much  will 
you  give,  little  discountess?"  And  the  reverend  gentleman  laughs 
and  winks,  and  drinks  and  laughs,  and  tears  twinkle  out  of  his 
tipsy  old  eyes,  as  he  wipes  them  Avith  one  hand,  and  again  says, 
"  How  mucii  will  you  give,  little  discountess?  " 

When  jioor  Caroline  went  to  her  cupboard,  and  from  it  took 
the  notes  and  the  gold  which  she  had  had  we  know  from  whom, 
and  added  to  these  out  of  a  cunning  box  a  little  heap  of  her  own 
jirivate  savings,  and  with  trembling  hands  poured  the  notes,  and  the 
sovereigns,  and  the  shillings  into  a  dish  on  the  table,  I  never  heard 
accurately  how  much  slie  laid  down.  l>ut  she  nuist  have  si)read 
out  everything  she  had  in  the  world  ;  for  she  felt  her  jiockets  and 


582  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

emptied  them ;  and,  tapping  lier  head,  she  again  applied  to  the 
cupboard,  and  took  from  thence  a  little  store  of  spoons  and  forks, 
and  then  a  brooch,  and  then  a  watch  ;  and  she  piled  these  all  up 
in  a  dish,  and  she  said,  "  Now,  Mr.  Hunt,  I  will  give  you  all  these 
for  that  bill."  And  she  looked  up  at  PhiUp's  picture,  which  hung 
over  the  parson's  bloodshot  satyr  face.  "  Take  these,"  she  said, 
"  and  give  me  that !  There's  two  hundred  pound,  I  know ;  and 
tliere's  thirty-four,  and  two  eighteen,  tliirty-six  eighteen,  and  there's 
the  plate  and  watch,  and  I  want  that  bill." 

"  What  !  have  you  got  all  this,  you  little  dear  ? "  cried  Hunt, 
dropping  back  into  his  chair  again.  "  Why,  you're  a  little  fortune, 
by  Jove — a  pretty  little  fortune,  a  little  discountess,  a  little  wife, 
a  little  fortune.  I  say,  I'm  a  University  man  :  I  could  write 
alcaics  once  as  well  as  any  man.  I'm  a  gentleman.  I  say,  how 
much  ?i,ave  you  got?     Count  it  over  again,  my  dear." 

And  again  she  told  him  the  amount  of  the  gold,  and  the  notes, 
and  the  silver,  and  the  number  of  the  jjoor  little  spoons. 

A  thought  came  across  the  fellow's  boozy  brain  :  "  If  you  offer 
so  much,"  says  he,  "and  you're  a  little  discountess,  the  bill's  worth 
more ;  that  fellow  must  be  making  his  fortune  !  Or  do  you  know 
about  it  ?  I  say,  do  you  know  about  it  ?  No.  I'll  have  my 
bond.  I'll  have  my  bond ! "  And  he  gave  a  tipsy  imitation  of 
Shylock,  and  lurched  back  into  his  chair,  and  laughed. 

"  Let's  have  a  little  more,  and  talk  about  things,"  said  the  poor 
Little  Sister ;  and  she  daintily  heaped  her  little  treasures  and 
arranged  them  in  her  dish,  and  smiled  upon  the  parson  laughing 
in  his  chair. 

"  Caroline,"  says  he,  after  a  pause,  "  you  are  still  fond  of  that 
old  T)ald-headed  scoundrel !  That's  it !  Just  like  you  women — 
just  like,  but  I  won't  tell.  No,  no,  I  won't  tell !  You  are  fond 
of  that  old  swindler  still,  I  say !  Wherever  did  you  get  that  lot 
of  money  1  Look  here  now — with  that  and  this  little  bill  in  my 
pocket,  there's  enough  to  carry  us  on  for  ever  so  long.  And  when 
this  money's  gone,  I  tell  you  I  know  who'll  give  us  more,  and  who 
can't  refuse  us,  I  tell  you.  Look  here,  Caroline,  dear  Caroline  ! 
I'm  an  old  fellow,  I  know ;  but  I'm  a  good  fellow :  I'm  a  classical 
scholar  :  and  I'm  a  gentleman." 

The  classical  scholar  and  gentleman  bleared  over  his  words  as 
he  uttered  them,  and  with  his  vinous  eyes  and  sordid  foce  gave  a 
leer,  which  must  have  frightened  the  poor  little  lady  to  whom  he 
proffered  himself  as  a  suitor,  for  she  started  back  with  a  pallid  face, 
and  an  aspect  of  such  dislike  and  terror,  that  even  her  guest  re- 
marked it. 

"  I  said  I  was  a  scholar  and  geutlcmaij,"  he  shrieked  again.     "Do 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUUH    THE    WORLD     583 

you  doubt  it  1  I  am  as  good  a  man  as  Bruiunioll  Firmin,  I  say.  I 
ain't  so  tall.  But  I'll  do  a  copy  of  Latin  alcaics  or  Greek  ianihics 
against  him  or  any  other  of  my  weight.  Do  you  mean  to  insult 
me"?  Don't  I  know  who  you  arel  Are  you  better  than  a  Master 
of  Arts  and  a  clergyman  1  He  went  out  in  medicine,  Firmin  did. 
Do  you  mean  when  a  Master  of  Arts  and  classical  scholar  offers 
you  his  hand  and  fortune,  that  you're  above  him  and  refuse  him, 
by  George  1 " 

The  Little  Sister  was  growing  bewildered  and  friglitened  by 
the  man's  energy  and  horrid  looks.  "  Oh,  Mr.  Hunt !  "  she  cried, 
"  see  here,  take  this  !  See — there  are  two  hundred  and  thirty — 
thirty-six  pounds  and  all  these  things  !  Take  them,  and  give  me 
that  paper." 

"  Sovereigns,  and  notes,  and  spoons,  and  a  watch,  and  what  I 
have  in  my  pocket — and  that  ain't  much — and  Firmin's  bill ! 
Three  hundred  and  eighty-six  four  three.  It's  a  fortune,  my  dear, 
with  economy  !  I  won't  have  you  going  on  being  a  nur.se  and  that 
kind  of  thing.  I'm  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman — I  am — and  that 
place  ain't  fit  for  Mrs.  Hunt.  We'll  first  si)end  your  money.  No  : 
we'll  first  spend  my  money — three  hundred  and  eighty-six  and — 
and  hang  the  change — and  when  that's  gone,  we'll  have  another 
bill  from  that  bald-headed  old  scoundrel :  and  his  son  who  struck  a 
poor  cler We  will,  I  say,  Caroline — we " 

The  wretch  was  suiting  actions  to  his  words,  and  rose  once 
more,  advancing  towards  his  hostess,  who  shrank  back,  laugliing 
half-hysterically,  and  retreating  as  the  other  neared  her.  Behind 
her  was  that  cupboai-d  which  had  contained  her  poor  little  treasure 
and  other  stores,  and  appended  to  the  lock  of  which  her  keys  were 
still  hanging.  As  the  lirute  appi-oached  her,  she  flung  back  the 
cupboard-door  smartly  u])on  him.  The  keys  struck  him  on  the 
head  ;  and  bleeding,  and  with  a  curse  and  a  cry,  he  fell  back  on 
his  chair. 

In  the  cupboard  was  that  bottle  which  she  had  r(>cci\-cd  from 
America  not  long  since;  and  about  which  she  had  talked  with 
Goodenough  on  that  very  day.  It  had  been  used  twice  or  thrice 
by  his  direction,  by  hospital  surgeons,  and  under  her  eye.  She 
suddenly  seized  this  bottle.  As  the  ruffian  before  her  uttered  his 
imprecations  of  wrath,  she  poured  out  a  (juantity  of  the  contents 
of  the  bottle  on  hor  handkerchief  She  said,  "  Oh  !  Mr.  Hunt, 
have  I  hurt  you?  I  ditln't  mean  it.  But  you  shouldn't-  you 
shouldn't  frigliten  a  lonely  woman  so !  Here,  let  me  bathe  you  ! 
Smell  this  !  It  will — it  will  do  you — good— it  will— it  Avill, 
indeed."  The  handkerchief  was  over  liis  Iikc  Bewildered  by 
driidv  before,  the   fumes  of   the    liquor    wiiich    lie    was    absorbing 


584  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

served  almost  instantly  to  overcome  him.  He  struggled  for  a 
moment  or  two.  "  Stoji — stop  !  you'll  be  better  in  a  moment," 
she  whispered.  "  Oh,  yes  !  better,  quite  better  !  "  She  squeezed 
more  of  the  liquor  from  the  bottle  on  to  the  handkerchief.  In  a 
minute  Hunt  was  quite  inanimate. 

Then  the  little  pale  woman  leant  over  him,  and  took  the  pocket- 
book  out  of  his  pocket,  and  from  it  the  bill  which  bore  Philip's 
name.  As  Hunt  lay  in  stupor  before  her,  she  now  squeezed  more 
of  the  liquor  over  his  head ;  and  then  thrust  the  bill  into  the  fire, 
and  saw  it  burn  to  ashes.  Then  she  put  back  the  pocket-book  into 
Hunt's  breast.  Slie  said  afterwards  that  she  never  should  have 
thought  about  that  Chloroform,  but  for  her  brief  conversation  with 
Dr.  Goodenough  that  evening,  regarding  a  case  in  which  she  had 
employed  the  new  remedy  under  his  orders. 

How  long  did  Hunt  lie  in  that  stupor?  It  seemed  a  whole 
long  night  to  Caroline.  She  said  afterwards  that  the  thought  of 
that  act  that  night  made  her  hair  grow  grey.  Poor  little  head  ! 
Indeed,  she  would  have  laid  it  down  for  Philip. 

Hunt,  I  suppose,  came  to  himself  when  the  handkerchief  was 
withdrawn,  and  the  fumes  of  the  potent  liquor  ceased  to  work  on 
his  brain.  He  was  very  much  frightened  and  bewildered.  "  What 
was  it  1     Where  am  IV  he  asked,  in  a  husky  voice. 

"  It  was  the  keys  struck  you  in  the  cupboard-door  when  you — 
you  ran  against  it,"  said  pale  Caroline.  "  Look !  you  are  all 
bleeding  on  the  head.     Let  me  dry  it." 

"  No  ;  keep  off !  "  cried  the  terrified  man. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cab  to  go  home  ?  The  poor  gentleman  hit 
himself  against  the  cupboard-door,  Mary.  You  remember  him  here 
before,  don't  you,  one  night  1 "  And  Caroline,  with  a  shrug,  pointed 
out  to  her  maid,  whom  she  had  summoned,  the  great  square  bottle 
of  spirits  still  on  the  table,  and  indicated  that  there  lay  the  cause 
of  Hunt's  bewilderment. 

"  Are  you  better  now  1  Will  you — will  you — take  a  little  more 
refreshment  ?  "  asked  Caroline. 

"  No  !  "  he  cried  with  an  oath,  and  with  glaring  bloodshot  eyes 
he  lurched  towards  his  hat. 

"  Lor',  mum  !  whatever  is  it  1  And  this  smell  in  the  room,  and 
all  this  here  heap  of  money  and  things  on  the  table  1 " 

CaroUue  flung  oi)en  her  window.  "  It's  medicine,  which  Dr. 
Goodenough  has  ordered  for  one  of  his  patients.  I  nuist  go  and  see 
her  to-night,"  she  said.  And  at  midnight,  looking  as  pale  as  death, 
the  Little  Sister  went  to  the  Doctor's  house,  and  roused  him  up  from 
his  bed,  and  told  him  the  story  here  narrated.  "  I  offered  him  all 
you  gave  me,"  she  said,  "and  all  I  had  in  the  world  besides,  and  he 


JUDITH    AND   HOLOFERNKS. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      585 

wouldn't — and "     Here  she  broke  out  into  a  fit  of  hysterics. 

The  doctor  had  to  ring  up  his  servants ;  to  achuinister  remedies  t(j 
his  little  nurse  ;  to  put  her  to  bed  in  his  own  house. 

"  By  the  immortal  Jove,"  he  said  afterwards,  "  I  had  a  great 
mind  to  beg  her  never  to  leave  it !  But  that  my  housekeeper  would 
tear  Caroline's  eyes  out,  Mrs.  Brandon  should  be  Avelcome  to  stay 
for  ever.  Excejjt  her  h's,  that  woman  has  every  virtue  :  constancy, 
gentleness,  generosity,  cheerfulness,  and  the  courage  of  a  lioness  ! 
To  think  of  that  fool,  that  dandified  idiot,  that  triple  ass,  Firmin  " 
— (there  were  few  men  in  the  world  for  whom  Goodenough  enter- 
tained a  greater  scorn  than  for  his  late  confrere,  Firmin  of  Old  Parr 
Street) — "  think  of  the  villain  having  i)Ossessed  such  a  treasure — - 
let  alone  his  having  deceived  and  deserted  her — of  his  having 
possessed  su(;h  a  treasure,  and  flung  it  away !  Sir,  I  always 
admired  Mrs.  Brandon  ;  but  I  think  ten  thousand  times  more  highly 
of  her,  since  her  glorious  crime,  and  most  righteous  robbery.  If 
the  villain  had  died,  dropped  dead  in  the  street — the  drunken 
miscreant,  forger,  housebreaker,  assassin — so  that  no  punishment 
could  have  fallen  upon  poor  Brandon,  I  think  I  should  have 
respected  her  only  the  more  !  " 

At  an  early  hour  Dr.  Goodenough  had  thought  proper  to  send 
off  messengers  to  Philip  and  myself,  and  to  make  us  acquainted 
with  the  strange  adventure  of  the  previous  night.  We  both 
hastened  to  him.  I  myself  was  summoned,  no  doubt,  in  consequence 
of  my  profound  legal  knowledge,  which  might  be  of  use  in  i)Oor  little 
Caroline's  present  trouble.  And  Philip  came  because  she  longed  to 
see  him.  By  some  instinct  she  knew  when  he  arrived.  She  crept 
down  from  the  chamber  where  the  Doctor's  housekeeper  had  laid 
her  on  a  bed.  She  knocked  at  the  Doctor's  study,  where  we  were 
aU  in  consultation.  She  came  in  quite  pale,  and  tottered  towards 
Philip,  and  flung  herself  into  his  arms,  with  a  burst  of  tears  that 
greatly  relieved  her  excitement  and  fever.  Firmin  was  scarcely 
less  moved. 

"  You'll  jjardon  me  for  what  I  have  done,  Philiji  1 "  she  sobbed. 
"  If  they — if  they  take  nic  uj),  you  won't  forsake  me  ?  " 

"  Forsake  you  ]  Pardon  you  ]  Come  anil  live  with  us,  and 
never  leave  us  !  "  cried  Philip. 

"  I  don't  think  Mrs.  Phili])  would  like  that,  dear,"  said  the 
little  woman  sobbing  on  his  arm:  "])ut  ever  since  the  Greyfriars 
school,  when  you  was  so  ill,  you  have  been  like  a  son  to  me,  and 
somehow  I  couldn't  help  doing  that  last  night  to  that  villain— I 
couldn't." 

"  Serve  the  scoundrel  right.  Never  deserved  to  come  to  life 
again,  my  dear,"  said  Dr.   CJoodenough.      "  Don't  you  be  exciting 


586  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

yourself,  little  Brandon  !  I  must  have  you  sent  back  to  lie  down 
on  your  bed.  Take  her  up,  Philip,  to  the  little  room  next  mine ; 
and  order  her  to  lie  down  and  be  as  quiet  as  a  mouse.  You  are 
not  to  move  till  I  give  you  leave,  Brandon — mind  that ;  and  come 
back  to  us,  Firmin,  or  we  shall  have  the  patients  coming." 

So  Philip  led  away  this  poor  Little  Sister ;  and  trembling,  and 
clinging  to  his  arm,  she  returned  to  tlie  room  assigned  to  her. 

"  Slie  wants  to  be  alone  witli  him,"  the  Doctor  said ;  and  he 
spoke  a  brief  word  or  two  of  tliat  strange  delusion  under  which  the 
little  woman  laboured,  tliat  this  was  her  dead  child  come  back  to  her. 

"I  know  that  is  in  her  mind,"  Goodenough  said;  "she  never 
got  over  that  brain  fever  in  which  I  found  her.  If  I  were  to 
swear  her  on  the  book,  and  say,  '  Brandon,  don't  you  believe  he 
is  your  sou  alive  again  1 '  she  would  not  dare  to  say  no.  She  will 
leave  him  everything  she  has  got.  I  only  gave  her  so  mucli  less 
than  that  scoundrel's  bill  yesterday,  because  I  knew  she  would  like 
to  contribute  lier  own  share.  It  would  have  offended  her  mortally 
to  have  been  left  out  of  the  subscription.  They  like  to  sacrifice 
themselves.  Why,  there  are  women  in  India  who,  if  not  allowed 
to  roast  with  their  dead  husbands,  would  die  of  vexation."  And 
by  this  time  Mr.  Philip  came  striding  back  into  the  room  again, 
rubbing  a  pair  of  very  red  eyes. 

"  Long  ere  this,  no  doubt,  that  drunken  ruffian  is  sobered,  and 
knows  that  the  bill  is  gone.  He  is  likely  enough  to  accuse  her 
of  the  robbery,"  says  the  Doctor. 

"  Suppose,"  says  Philip's  other  friend,  "  I  had  put  a  pistol  to 
your  head,  and  was  going  to  shoot  you,  and  the  Doctor  took  the 
pistol  out  of  my  hand,  and  flung  it  into  the  sea,  would  you  help 
me  to  prosecute  the  Doctor  for  robbing  me  of  the  pistol  ] " 

"  You  don't  suppose  it  will  be  a  pleasure  to  me  to  pay  that 
bill  1 "  said  Philip.  "  I  said,  if  a  certain  bill  were  presented  to  me, 
purporting  to  be  accepted  by  Philip  Firmin,  I  would  pay  it.  But 
if  tliat  scoundrel,  Hunt,  only  sai/s  that  he  had  such  a  bill,  and  has 
lost  it ;  I  will  cheerfully  take  my  oath  that  I  have  never  signed 
any  bill  at  all — and  they  can't  find  Brandon  guilty  of  stealing  a 
thing  which  never  existed." 

"  Let  us  hope,  then,  that  tlie  bill  was  not  in  duplicate ! " 

And  to  this  wish  all  three  gentlemen  heartily  said  Amen  ! 

And  now  the  Doct(jr's  dooi  bell  began  to  be  agitated  by  arriving 
patients.  His  dining-room  was  already  full  of  them.  The  Little 
Sister  must  lie  still,  and  the  discussion  of  her  affairs  must  be 
deferred  to  a  more  convenient  hour ;  and  Philip  and  his  friend 
agreed  to  reconnoitre  the  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  and  see  if 
anything  had  hapi)ened  since  its  mistress  had  left  it. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     587 

Yes :  something  had  hai»])one(l.  Mrs.  Brandon's  maid,  who 
ushered  us  into  her  mistress's  little  room,  told  us  that  in  the  early 
morning  that  horrible  man  who  had  come  over  night,  and  been  so 
tipsy,  and  behaved  so  ill, — the  very  same  man  who  had  come  there 
tipsy  afore  once,  and  whom  Mr.  Philip  had  flung  into  the  street — ■ 
liad  come  battering  at  the  knocker,  and  pulling  at  the  bell,  and 
swearing  and  cursing  most  dreadful,  and  calling  for  "  Mrs.  Brandon  ! 
Mrs.  Brandon  !  Mrs.  Brandon  !  "  and  frightening  the  whole  street. 
After  he  had  rung,  he  knocked  and  battered  ever  so  long.  Mary 
looked  out  at  him  from  her  upper  window,  and  told  him  to  go  along 
home,  or  she  would  call  the  police.  On  this  the  man  roared  out 
that  he  wt)uld  call  the  police  himself  if  Mary  did  not  let  him  in  ; 
and  as  lie  went  on  calling  "  Police  ! "  and  yelling  from  the  door, 
Mary  came  downstaii-s,  and  ojiened  the  hall-(loor,  keeping  the  chain 
fastened,  and  asked  him  what  he  wanted. 

Hunt,  from  the  steps  without,  began  to  swear  and  rage  more 
loudly,  and  to  demand  to  be  let  in.  He  nuist  and  would  see  Mrs. 
Brandon. 

Mary,  from  behind  her  chain  barricade,  said  that  her  mistress 
was  not  at  home,  but  that  she  had  been  called  out  that  night  to  a 
I»atient  of  Dr.  Goodenough's. 

Hunt,  with  more  shrieks  and  curses,  said  it  was  a  lie  :  and  that 
she  was  at  home;  and  tliat  he  would  see  her;  and  that  he  must  go 
into  her  room;  and  that  he  had  left  something  there;  that  he  had 
lost  something ;  and  that  he  would  have  it. 

"Lost  something  here?"  cried  Mary.  "Why  here]  when  you 
reeled  out  of  this  house,  you  couldn't  scarce  walk,  and  you  almost 
fell  into  the  gutter,  which  I  have  seen  you  there  before.  Get  away, 
and  go  home  !     You  are  not  sober  yet,  you  horrible  man  !  " 

On  this,  clinging  on  to  the  area-railings,  and  demeaning  lumself 
like  a  madman,  Hunt  continued  to  call  out,  "  Police,  i)olice  !  I 
have  been  robbed,  Pve  been  robbed  !  Police  ! "  until  astonished 
heads  appeared  at  various  windows  in  the  quiet  street,  anil  a  jiol ice- 
man actually  came  up. 

When  the  policeman  ap])eared,  Hunt  began  to  sway  and  ])ull 
at  the  door,  confined  by  its  chain  :  and  he  frantically  reiterated  his 
charge,  that  he  had  been  robbed  and  hocussed  in  that  house,  that 
night,  by  Mrs.  pjntiidon. 

The  i)oliceman,  by  a  lamiliar  expression,  conveyed  his  utter 
disbelief  of  the  statement,  and  told  the  dirty  disreputable  man  to 
move  on,  and  go  to  bed.  Mrs.  Brandon  was  kiHn\n  and  respected 
all  round  the  neighbourhood.  She  had  befriended  mnnerous  poor 
round  about;  and  was  known  for  :i  hundred  charities.  She  at- 
tended  many  respectal)le  familit's.      In   that   parish   there  was   no 


588  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

woman  more  esteemed.  And  by  the  word  "  Gammon,"  the  police- 
man expressed  his  sense  of  the  utter  absurdity  of  the  charge  against 
the  good  lady. 

Hunt  still  continued  to  yell  out  that  he  had  been  robbed  and 
hocussed  ;  and  Mary  from  behind  her  door  repeated  to  the  officer 
(with  whom  she  perhaps  had  relations  not  unfriendly)  her  statement 
that  the  beast  had  gone  reeling  away  from  the  house  the  night 
before,  and  if  he  liad  lost  anything,  who  knows  whore  he  might 
not  have  lost  if? 

"  It  was  taken  out  of  this  pocket,  and  out  of  this  pocket-book," 
howled  Hunt,  clinging  to  the  rail.  "  I  give  her  in  charge.  I  give 
the  house  in  charge  !     It's  a  den  of  thieves  !  " 

During  this  shouting  and  turmoil,  the  sash  of  a  window  in 
Ridley's  studio  was  thrown  up.  The  painter  was  going  to  his 
morning  work.  He  had  appointed  an  early  model.  The  sun  could 
not  rise  too  soon  for  Ridley ;  and,  as  soon  as  ever  it  gave  its  light, 
found  him  happy  at  his  labour.  He  had  heard  from  his  bedroom 
the  brawl  going  on  about  the  door. 

"  Mr.  Ridley  ! "  says  the  policeman,  touching  the  glazed  hat 
with  much  respect — (in  fact,  and  out  of  uniform,  Z  25  has  figured 
in  more  than  one  of  J.  J.'s  pictures) — "  Here's  a  fellow  disturbing 
the  whole  street,  and  shouting  out  that  Mrs.  Brandon  have  robbed 
and  hocussed  him  !  " 

Ridley  ran  downstairs  in  a  high  state  of  indignation.  He  is 
nervous,  like  nien  of  his  tribe :  quick  to  feel,  to  pity,  to  love,  to 
be  angry.     He  undid  the  chain,  and  ran  into  the  street. 

"  I  remember  that  fellow  driuik  here  before,"  said  the  painter ; 
"and  lying  in  that  very  gutter." 

"  Drunk  and  disorderly  !  Come  along  !  "  cries  Z  25  ;  and  his 
hand  was  quickly  fastened  on  the  parson's  greasy  collar,  and  luider 
its  strong  grasp  Hunt  is  forced  to  move  on.  He  goes,  still  yelling 
out  that  he  has  been  robbed. 

"  Tell  that  to  his  worship,"  says  the  incredulous  Z.  And  this 
was  the  news  wliich  Mrs.  Brandon's  friends  received  from  her  maid, 
when  they  called  at  her  house. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX 

IN   irHICH  SEVERAL   PEOPLE   HAVE    THEIR   TRIALS 

IF  Pliilip  and  his  friend  had  liappened  to  pa.ss  through  High 
Street,  Marylebone,  on  their  way  to  Thomhaugh  Street  to 
reconnoitre  the  Little  Sister's  house,  they  would  have  seen  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Hunt,  in  a  very  dirty,  battered,  crestfallen,  and  un- 
satisfactory state,  marching  to  Marylebone  from  the  station,  where 
the  reverend  gentleman  had  i)assed  the  night,  and  under  the  custody 
of  the  police.  A  convoy  of  street-})oys  followed  tlie  prisoner  and  liis 
guard,  making  sarcastic  remarks  on  both.  Hunt's  a])]iearance  was 
not  improved  since  we  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  hiiu  on  tlie 
])revi()us  evening.  AVith  a  grizzled  beard  and  hair,  a  dingy  face,  a 
dingy  shirt,  and  a  countenance  mottled  with  dirt  and  drink,  we 
may  fancy  tlie  Reverend  man  passing  in  tattered  raiment  througli 
the  street  to  make  his  appearance  before  the  magistrate. 

You  have  no  doubt  forgotten  tlie  narrative  which  appeared  in 
the  morning  papers  two  days  after  the  Thornhaugh  Street  incident ; 
but  my  clerk  has  been  at  the  pains  to  hunt  up  and  copy  the  police 
report,  in  which  events  connected  with  our  history  are  briefly 
recorded. 

"Marylebone,  Weduesda//. — Tliomas  Tufton  Hunt,  professing 
to  be  a  clergyman,  but  wearing  an  a])pearance  of  cxti'cme  scjualor, 
was  brought  liefore  Mr.  Beaksby  at  this  office,  charged  by  Z  25 
witii  l)cing  drunk  and  very  disorderly  on  Tuesday  se'nnight,  and 
endeavouring  l)y  foi-ce  and  threats  to  effect  his  re-entrance  into  a 
house  in  Thornhaugh  Street,  from  wliich  lie  liad  been  ))revious]y 
ejected  in  a  most  unclerical  and  incl)riated  state. 

"On  being  taken  to  the  station-house,  tlie  reverend  gentleman 
lodgeti  a  complaint  on  his  own  side,  and  averred  that  he  had  been 
stupefied  and  hocussed  in  the  house  in  Thornhaugh  Street  by  means 
of  some  drug,  and  tliat,  whilst  in  this  state,  he  liad  l)een  robbe<l 
of  a  bill  for  <£386,  4s.  3d.,  (hawii  by  a  person  in  New  York,  ;nid 
accepted  by  Mr.  P.  Firmin,  Imriister,  of  Parcliment  Buildings, 
Temple. 

"Mrs.  Brandon,  the  landlady  of  the  house,  No.  —  Thoruhaugii 


590  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Street,  has  been  in  the  habit  of  letting  lodgings  for  many  years 
])ast,  and  several  of  her  friends,  including  Mr.  Firmin,  Mr.  Ridley, 
the  Royal  Academician,  and  other  gentlemen,  were  in  attendance 
to  speak  to  her  character,  wliich  is  most  respectable.  After  Z  25 
had  given  evidence,  the  servant  deposed  that  Hunt  had  been  more 
than  once  disorderly  and  drunk  before  in  that  house,  and  had  been 
forcibly  ejected  from  it.  On  the  night  when  the  alleged  robbery 
was  said  to  have  taken  place,  he  had  visited  the  house  in  Thorn- 
haugh  Street,  had  left  it  in  an  inebriated  state,  and  returned  some 
hours  afterwards,  vowing  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  document 
in  question. 

"  Mr.  P.  Firmin  said :  '  I  am  a  barrister,  and  have  chambers  at 
Parchment  Buildings,  Temple,  and  know  the  person  calling  himself 
Hunt.  I  have  not  accepted  any  bill  of  exchange,  nor  is  my  signa- 
ture affixed  to  any  such  document.' 

"At  this  stage  the  worthy  magistrate  interposed,  and  said  that 
this  only  went  to  prove  that  the  bill  was  not  completed  by  Mr.  F.'s 
acceptance,  and  would  by  no  means  conclude  the  case  set  up  before 
him.  Dealing  with  it,  however,  on  the  merits,  and  looking  at  the 
way  in  which  the  charge  had  been  preferred,  and  the  entire  absence 
of  sufficient  testimony  to  warrant  him  in  deciding  that  even  a  piece 
of  paper  had  been  abstracted  in  that  house,  or  by  the  person  accused, 
and  believing  that  if  he  were  to  commit,  a  conviction  would  be  im- 
possible, he  dismissed  the  charge. 

"  The  lady  left  the  court  with  her  friends,  and  the  accuser, 
when  called  upon  to  pay  a  fine  for  dnmkenness,  broke  out  into  very 
unclerical  language,  in  the  midst  of  which  he  was  forcibly  removed." 

Philip  Firmin's  statement,  that  he  had  given  no  bill  of  exchange, 
was  made  not  without  hesitation  on  his  part,  and  indeed  at  his 
friends'  strong  entreaty.  It  was  addi-essed  not  so  much  to  the 
sitting  magistrate,  as  to  that  elderly  individual  at  New  York,  who 
was  warned  no  more  to  forge  his  son's  name.  I  fear  a  coolness 
ensued  between  Philip  and  his  parent  in  consequence  of  the  younger 
man's  behaviour.  The  Doctor  had  thought  better  of  his  boy  than 
to  suppose  that,  at  a  mionient  of  necessity,  Philip  would  desert  him. 
He  forgave  Philip,  ..-"vertheless.  Perhaps  since  his  marriage  other 
Influences  were  at  work  upon  him,  &c.  The  parent  made  furthei- 
remarks  in  this  strain.  A  man  Avho  takes  your  money  is  natiu-ally 
offended  if  you  remonstrate  ;  you  wound  liis  sense  of  delicacy  by 
protesting  against  his  putting  his  hand  in  your  pocket.  The  elegant 
Doctor  in  New  York  continued  to  speak  of  his  unhappy  son  witli 
a  mournful  sliake  of  the  head ;  he  said,  perhaps  believed,  that 
Philip's  imprudence  was  in  part  the  cause  of  his  own  exile.      "  This 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     591 

is  not  the  kind  of  entertainment  to  which  I  would  have  invited  you 
at  my  own  house  in  England,"  he  would  say.  "  I  thought  to  have 
ended  my  days  there,  and  to  have  left  my  son  in  comfort — nay, 
splendour.  I  am  an  exile  in  jtoverty  :  and  he- — but  I  will  use  no 
hard  words."  And  to  his  female  ])atients  he  wcjuld  say  :  "  No  !  my 
dear  madam  ! — not  a  syllable  of  rei)roach  shall  escape  these  lips 
regarding  that  misguided  boy !  But  you  can  feel  for  me ;  I  know 
you  can  feel  for  me."  In  the  old  days,  a  high-spirited  highwayman, 
who  took  a  coach-passenger's  purse,  thought  himself  injure(l,  and 
the  traveller  a  shabby  fellow,  if  he  secreted  a  guinea  or  two  under 
the  cushions.  In  the  Doctor's  now  rare  letters,  he  breathed  a 
manly  sigh  here  and  there,  to  think  that  he  had  lost  the  confidence 
of  his  boy.  I  do  believe  that  certain  ladies  of  our  acquaintance 
were  inclined  to  think  that  the  elder  Firmin  had  been  not  altogether 
well  used,  however  much  they  loved  and  admired  the  Little  Sister 
for  her  lawless  act  in  her  boy's  defence.  But  this  main  point  we 
had  won.  The  Doctor  at  New  York  took  the  warning,  and  wrote 
his  son's  signature  upon  no  more  bills  of  exchange.  The  good 
Goodenough's  loan  was  carried  back  to  him  in  th(!  very  coin  which 
he  had  supplied.  He  said  that  his  little  nurse  Brandon  was  s.plen- 
dide  viendax,  and  that  her  rolibery  was  a  sublime  and  courageous 
act  of  war. 

In  so  far,  since  his  marriage,  Mr.  Philip  had  been  pretty  fortu- 
nate. At  need,  friends  had  come  to  him.  In  moments  of  peril  he 
had  had  succour  and  relief  Though  he  had  married  without  money, 
fate  had  sent  him  a  sufficiency.  His  flask  had  never  been  empty, 
and  there  was  always  meal  in  his  bin.  But  now  hard  trials  were 
in  store  for  him  :  hard  trials  which  we  have  said  were  endurable, 
and  which  he  has  long  since  lived  through.  Any  man  who  has 
played  the  game  of  life  or  wliist,  knows  how  for  one  while  he  will 
have  a  series  of  good  cards  dealt  him,  and  again  will  ^ct  no  trumps 
at  all.  After  he  got  into  his  house  in  Milinan  Street,  and  quitted 
the  Little  Sister's  kind  roof,  our  friend's  good  fortune  seemed  to 
desert  him.  "  Perhaps  it  Avas  a  punishment  for  my  pride,  because 
I  was  haughty  with  her,  and — and  jealous  of  tliat  dear  good  little 
creature,"  poor  Charlotte  aftei-wards  owned  in  conversation  with 
other  friends  : — "  but  our  fortune  seemed  to  change  wlien  we  were 
away  from  her,  and  that  I  nuist  own." 

Perhaps,  when  she  was  yet  under  Mrs.  Brandon's  roof,  the 
Little  Sister's  i)rovident  care  had  done  a  great  deal  more  for  Char- 
lotte thiin  Cliarlotte  knew.  Mrs.  Pliilip  had  the  most  simple  tastes 
in  the  world,  and  upon  herself  never  spent  an  unnecessary  sliilling. 
Iiith'cd,  it  was  a  wonder,  considering  licr  small  exix-nses,  how  neat 
and  nice  Mrs.  Phili])  ever  looked.     But  she  never  could  deny  herself 


592  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

when  the  children  were  in  (juestion ;  and  had  thein  arrayed  in  all 
sorts  of  fine  clothes ;  and  stitched  and  hemmed  all  day  and  night  to 
decorate  their  little  persons ;  and  in  reply  to  the  remonstrances  of 
the  matrons  her  friends,  showed  how  it  was  impossible  children 
could  be  dressed  for  less  cost.  If  anything  ailed  them,  quick,  the 
doctor  must  be  sent  for.  Not  worthy  Goodenough,  who  came 
without  a  fee,  and  pooh-poohed  her  alarms  and  anxieties ;  but  dear 
Mr.  Bland,  who  had  a  feeling  heart,  and  was  himself  a  father  of 
cliildren,  and  wlio  supported  tliose  children  by  the  produce  of  the 
l)ills,  draughts,  powders,  visits,  which  he  bestowed  on  all  families 
into  whose  doors  he  entered.  Bland's  sympathy  was  very  consola- 
tory ;  but  it  was  found  to  be  very  costly  at  the  end  of  the  year. 
"And,  what  then?"  says  Charlotte,  with  kindling  cheeks.  "Do 
you  suppose  we  should  grudge  that  money,  which  was  to  give  health 
to  our  dearest  dearest  babies  ?  No.  You  can't  have  such  a  bad 
opinion  of  me  as  that ! "  And  accordingly  Mr.  Bland  received  a 
nice  little  annuity  from  oiu-  friends.  Philip  had  a  joke  about  his 
wife's  housekeeping  which  perhaps  may  apply  to  other  young  women 
who  are  kept  by  over-watchful  mothers  too  much  in  statu  jiupillari. 
When  they  were  married,  or  about  to  be  married,  Philip  asked 
Charlotte  what  she  would  order  for  dinner.  She  promptly  said  she 
would  order  leg  of  mutton.  "  And  after  leg  of  mutton  1 "  "  Leg  of 
beef,  to  be  sure ! "  says  Mrs.  Charlotte,  looking  very  pleased  and 
knowing.  And  the  fact  is,  as  this  little  housekeeper  was  obliged 
demurely  to  admit,  their  household  bills  increased  j^'^odujioudy 
after  they  left  Thornhaugh  Street.  "And  I  can't  understand,  my 
dear,  how  the  grocer's  book  sliould  mount  up  so ;  and  the  butter- 
man's,  and  the  beer,"  &c.  &c.  We  have  often  seen  the  pretty  little 
head  bent  over  the  dingy  volumes,  puzzling,  puzzling :  and  the 
eldest  child  would  hold  up  a  warning  finger  to  ours,  and  tell  them 
to  be  very  qiiiet,  as  mamma  was  at  her  "  atounts." 

And  now,  I  grieve  to  say,  money  became  scarce  for  the  payment 
of  these  accounts ;  and  though  Philip  fancied  he  hid  his  anxieties 
from  his  wife,  be  sure  she  loved  him  too  much  to  be  deceived  by 
one  of  the  clumsiest  hypocrites  in  the  world.  Only,  being  a  much 
cleverer  hypo."ite  than  her  husband,  she  pretended  to  be  deceived, 
and  acted  her  part  so  well  that  poor  Philip  was  mortified  with  her 
gaiety,  and  chose  to  fancy  his  wife  was  indifferent  to  their  mis- 
fortunes. She  ought  not  to  be  so  smiling  and  happy,  he  thought ; 
and,  as  usual,  bemoaned  his  lot  to  his  friends.  "  I  come  home 
racked  with  care,  and  thinking  of  those  inevitable  bills  ;  I  shudder, 
sir,  at  every  note  that  lies  on  the  hall  table,  and  would  tremble  as 
I  dashed  them  open  as  they  do  on  the  stage.  But  I  laugh  and  put 
on  a  jaunty  air,  and  humbug  Char.     And  I  hear  her  singing  about 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      593 

tlie  house  and  laughing  and  cooing  with  the  children,  by  Jove. 
She's  not  aware  of  anything.  She  does  not  know  how  dreadfully 
the  res  doini  is  squeezing  me.  But  before  viarriaf/e  she  did,  I  tell 
you.  Then,  if  anything  annoyed  me,  she  divined  it.  If  I  felt  ever 
so  little  unwell,  you  should  have  seen  the  alarm  on  her  face  !  It 
was  '  Philij)  dear,  how  pale  you  are ; '  or,  '  Philip,  how  flushed  you 
are ; '  or,  'I  am  sine  you  have  had  a  letter  from  your  father.  Why 
do  you  conceal  anything  from  me,  sir?  You  never  should — never  ! ' 
And  now  when  the  fox  is  gnawing  at  my  side  under  my  cloak,  I 
laugh  and  grin  so  naturally  that  she  believes  I  am  all  right,  and 
she  comes  to  meet  me  flouncing  the  children  about  in  my  face,  and 
wearing  an  air  of  consummate  happiness  !  I  would  not  deceive  her 
for  the  world,  you  know.  But  it's  mortifying.  Don't  tell  me.  It 
is  mortifying  to  be  tossing  aAvake  all  night,  and  racked  with  care 
all  day,  and  have  the  wife  of  your  bosom  chattering  and  singing 
and  laughing,  as  if  there  were  no  cares,  or  doubts,  or  duns  in  the 
world.  If  I  had  the  gout  and  she  were  to  laugh  and  sing,  I  should 
not  call  that  sympathy.  If  I  were  arrested  for  delit,  and  she  were 
to  come  grinning  and  laughing  to  the  sjjunging-house,  I  should  not 
call  that  consolation.  Why  doesn't  she  feel  1  She  ought  to  feel. 
There's  Betsy,  our  parlour-maid.  There's  the  old  fellow  who  comes 
to  clean  the  boots  and  knives.  They  know  how  hard  up  I  am. 
And  my  wife  sings  and  dances  whilst  I  am  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  by 
Jove  ;  and  giggles  and  laughs  as  if  life  was  a  pantomime  !  " 

Then  the  man  and  woman  into  whose  ears  poor  Philip  roared 
out  his  confessions  and  griefs,  hung  down  their  blushing  heads  in 
humbled  silence.  They  are  tolerably  i)rosperous  in  life,  and,  I  fear, 
are  pretty  well  satisfied  with  themselves  and  each  other.  A  woman 
who  scarcely  ever  does  any  wrong,  and  rules  and  governs  her  own 

house  and  family,  as  my as  the  wife  of  the  reader's  humble 

servant  most  notoriously  does,  often  becomes — must  it  be  said? — 
too  certain  of  her  own  virtue,  and  is  too  sure  of  the  correct- 
ness of  her  own  ojjinion.  We  virtuous  jjeople  give  advice  a  good 
deal,  and  set  a  considerable  value  upon  that  advice.  We  meet 
a  certain  man  who  has  fallen  among  thieves,  let  us  say.  We 
succour  him  readily  enough.  We  take  him  kindly  to  the  inn, 
and  pay  his  score  there ;  but  we  say  to  the  landlord,  "  You  nmst 
give  this  ])Oor  man  his  bed ;  his  medicine  at  such  a  time,  and  his 
broth  at  such  anotlier.  But,  mind  you,  he  must  have  that  physic, 
and  no  other  ;  that  broth  when  wo  order  it.  We  take  his  case 
in  liaiid,  you  understand.  Don't  listen  to  him  or  anybody  else. 
We  know  all  about  everything.  Good-bye.  Take  care  of  him. 
Mini!  tlic  medicine  and  the  broth!"  Ami  Mi.  liciiefactor  or  Lady 
Biiuiitiful  goes  away,  perfectly  self-satisfied. 


594  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Do  you  take  this  allegory"?  When  Philip  complained  to  us 
of  his  wife's  friskiness  and  gaiety ;  when  he  bitterly  contrasted 
her  levity  and  carelessness  with  his  own  despondency  and  doubt, 
Charlotte's  two  principal  friends  were  smitten  by  shame.  "  Oh, 
Philip !  dear  Philip  ! "  his  female  adviser  said  (having  looked  at 
her  husband  once  or  twice  as  Firmin  spoke,  and  in  vain  endeavoured 
to  keep  her  guilty  eyes  down  on  her  work),  "  Charlotte  has  done 
this,  because  she  is  humble,  and  because  she  takes  the  advice  of 
friends  who  are  not.  She  knows  everything,  and  more  than  every- 
thing ;  for  her  dear  tender  heart  is  filled  with  apprehension.  But 
we  told  her  to  show  no  sign  of  care,  lest  her  husband  should  be 
disturbed.  And  she  trusted  in  us ;  and  she  puts  her  trust  else- 
where, Philip ;  and  she  has  hidden  her  own  anxieties,  lest  yours 
should  be  increased  :  and  has  met  you  gaily  when  her  heart  was 
full  of  dread.  We  think  she  has  done  wrong  now  ;  but  she  did  so 
becanse  she  was  so  simple,  and  trusted  in  us  who  advised  her 
wrongly.  Now  we  see  that  there  ought  to  have  been  perfect 
confidence  always  between  you,  and  that  it  is  her  simplicity  and 
faith  in  us  which  have  misled  her." 

Phil  hung  down  his  head  for  a  moment,  and  hid  his  eyes ;  and 
we  knew,  during  that  minute  when  his  face  was  concealed  from  us, 
how  his  grateful  heart  was  employed. 

"  And  you  know,  dear  Philip "  says  Laura,  looking  at  her 

husband,   and   nodding  to   that  i)erson,  who   certainly  understood 
the  hint. 

"And  I  say,  Firmin,"  breaks  in  the  lady's  husband,  "you 
understand,  if  you  are  at  all — that  is,  if  you — that  is,  if  we 
can " 

"  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  shouts  Firmin,  witli  a  face  beaming  over 
with  happiness.  "  I  know  what  you  mean.  You  beggar,  you  are 
going  to  ofter  me  money  !  I  see  it  in  your  face ;  bless  yoix  both  ! 
But  we'll  try  and  do  without,  please  Heaven.  And — and  it's 
worth  feeling  a  pinch  of  poverty  to  find  such  friends  as  I  have  had, 
and  to  sliare  it  with  such  a — such  a — dash — dear  little  thing  as 
I  havv.  -it  home.  And  I  won't  try  and  humbug  Char  any  more. 
I'm  bad  at  that  sort  of  business.  And  good-night,  and  I'll  never 
forget  your  kindness,  never  !  "  And  he  is  off"  a  moment  afterwards, 
and  jumping  dijwn  the  steps  of  our  door,  and  so  into  tlie  park. 
And  though  there  were  not  five  poimds  in  the  poor  little  house 
in  Milman  Street,  there  were  not  two  happier  people  in  London 
that  night  than  Charlotte  and  Philip  Firmin.  If  he  had  his 
troubles,  our  friend  had  his  immense  consolations.  Fortunate  he, 
however  poor,  who  has  friends  to  help,  and  love  to  console  him 
iu  his  trials. 


CHAPTER   XL 

IX   WHICH   THE  LUCK  GOES   VERY  MUCH  AGAINST  US 

EVERY  man  and  woman  amongst  us  has  made  his  voyage  to 
Lilliput,  and  his  tour  in  the  kingdom  of  Brobdingnag.  When 
I  go  to  my  native  country  town,  the  local  paper  announces 
our  arrival ;  the  labourers  toucli  their  hats  as  the  i)ony-chaise 
jiasses,  the  girls  and  old  women  drop  curtseys ;  Mr.  Hicks,  the 
grocer  and  hatter,  comes  to  his  door  and  makes  a  bow,  and  smirks 
and  smiles.  When  our  neighbour  Sir  John  arrives  at  the  Hall,  he 
is  a  still  greater  personage ;  the  bell-ringers  greet  the  Hall  family 
with  a  peal ;  the  Rector  walks  over  on  an  early  day,  and  pays  his 
visit;  and  the  farmers  at  market  press  round  for  a  nod  of  recogni- 
tion. Sir  John  at  home  is  in  Lilliput :  in  Belgrave  Square  he  is  in 
Brobdingnag,  where  almost  everybody  we  meet  is  ever  so  much 
taller  than  ourselves.  "  Which  do  you  like  best :  to  be  a  giant 
amongst  the  pigmies,  or  a  pigmy  amongst  the  giants  1"  I  know 
what  sort  of  company  I  prefer  myself:  but  that  is  not  the  point. 
What  I  would  hint  is,  that  we  possibly  give  ourselves  patronising 
airs  before  small  j)eoj)le,  as  folks  higher  placed  than  ourselves  give 
themselves  airs  before  its.  Patronising  airs?  Old  Miss  Mumbles, 
the  half-pay  limitenant's  daughter,  who  lives  over  the  jilumber's, 
with  her  maid,  gives  herself  in  her  degree  more  airs  than  any 
duchess  in  Bolgravia,  and  would  leave  the  room  if  a  tradesman's 
wife  sat  down  in  it. 

Now  it  has  been  said  that  few  men  in  this  city  of  London  arc 
so  simple  in  their  manners  as  Philip  Firmin,  and  that  he  treated 
the  patron  whose  bread  he  ate,  and  the  wealthy  relative  who  con- 
descended to  visit  him,  with  a  like  freedom.  He  is  blunt,  but  not 
familiar,  and  is  not  a  whit  more  polite  to  my  Lord  than  to  Jack 
or  Tom  at  the  coffee-house.  He  resents  familiarity  from  vulgar 
persons,  and  those  who  venture  on  it  retire  maimed  and  mortified 
after  coming  into  collision  with  him.  As  for  the  peo])]c  lie  loves, 
he  grovels  before  them,  worships  tlieir  boot-tips  and  their  gown- 
hems.  But  he  submits  to  tliem,  not  for  their  wealth  or  rank,  but' 
for  love's  sake.  He  submitted  very  magjianimously,  at  first,  to 
the  kindness  and  caresses  of  Lady  Ringwond  and    her  daughters, 


596  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

being  softened  and  won  by  the  regard  which  they  showed  for  his 
wife  and  cliildren. 

Alth(jugh  Sir  Jolui  was  for  the  Rights  of  Man  everywhere, 
all  over  the  world,  and  had  pictures  of  Franklin,  Lafayette,  and 
Washington  in  his  library,  he  likewise  had  portraits  of  his  own 
ancestors  in  that  apartment,  and  entertained  a  very  high  opinion 
of  the  present  representative  of  the  Ringwood  family.  The  char- 
acter of  the  late  chief  of  the  house  was  notorious.  Lord  Ringwood's 
life  had  been  irregular  and  his  morals  loose.  His  talents  were 
considerable,  no  doubt,  but  they  had  not  been  devoted  to  serious 
study  or  directed  to  useful  ends.  A  wild  man  in  early  life,  he 
liad  only  changed  his  practices  in  later  life  in  consequence  of  ill- 
health,  and  became  a  hermit  as  a  Certain  Person  became  a  monk. 
He  was  a  frivolous  person  to  the  end,  and  was  not  to  be  considered 
as  a  public  man  and  statesman;  and  this  light-minded  man  of 
pleasure  liad  been  advanced  to  the  tliird  rank  of  the  peerage,  whilst 
his  successor,  his  superior  in  intellect  and  morality,  remained  a 
Baronet  still.  How  blind  the  Ministry  was  which  refused  to  re- 
cognise so  much  talent  and  worth !  Had  tliere  been  public  virtue 
or  common  sense  in  the  governors  of  the  nation,  merits  like  Sir 
John's  never  could  have  been  overlooked.  But  Ministers  were 
notoriously  a  family  clique,  and  only  helped  each  other.  Promotion 
and  patronage  were  disgracefully  monopolised  by  the  members  of 
a  very  few  families  who  were  not  better  men  of  business,  men  of 
better  character,  men  of  more  ancient  lineage  (though  birth,  of 
course,  was  a  mere  accident)  than  Sir  John  himself  In  a  word, 
until  they  gave  him  a  peerage,  he  saw  very  little  hope  for  the 
cabinet  or  the  country. 

In  a  very  early  page  of  this  history  mention  was  made  of 
a  certain  Philip  Ringwood,  to  whose  protection  Philip  Firmin's 
mother  confided  her  boy  when  he  was  first  sent  to  school.  Philip 
Ringwood  was  Firmin's  senior  by  seven  years ;  he  came  to  Old 
Parr  Street  twice  or  thrice  during  his  stay  at  school,  condescended 
to  *^^ake  the  "  tips,"  of  which  the  poor  Doctor  was  liberal  enough, 
but  never  deigned  to  take  any  notice  of  young  Firmin,  who  looked 
up  to  his  kinsman  with  awe  and  trembling.  From  school  Philij* 
Ringwood  speedily  departed  to  college,  and  then  entered  upon 
public  life.  He  was  the  eldest  son  of  Sir  John  Ringwood,  with 
whom  our  friend  lias  of  late  made  acquaintance. 

Mr.  Ringwood  was  a  much  greater  personage  than  the  Baronet 
his  father.  Even  when  the  latter  succeeded  to  Lord  Ringwood's 
'estates  and  came  to  London,  he  could  scarcely  be  said  to  equal 
his  son  in  social  rank ;  and  tlie  younger  patronised  his  parent. 
What  is  the  secret  of  great  social  success  1     It  is  not  to  be  gained 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     597 

by  beauty,  or  wealth,  or  birth,  or  wit,  or  valour,  or  eminence  of 
any  kind.  It  is  a  gift  of  Fortune,  bestowed,  like  that  goddess's 
favours,  capriciously.  Look,  dear  madam,  at  the  most  fashionable 
ladies  at  present  reigning  in  London.  Are  they  better  bred,  or 
more  amiable,  or  richer,  or  more  beautiful  than  yourself?  See, 
good  sir,  the  men  who  lead  the  fashion,  and  stand  in  the  bow 
window  at  "  Black's  "  :  are  they  wiser,  or  wittier,  or  more  agreeable 
l)eople  than  you  ?  And  yet  you  know  what  your  Me  would  be 
if  you  were  put  up  at  that  club.  Sir  John  Ringwood  never  dared 
to  be  proposed  there,  even  after  his  great  accession  of  fortune  on 
the  Earl's  death.  His  son  did  not  encourage  him.  People  even 
said  that  Ringwood  would  blackball  his  father  if  he  dared  to  offer 
himself  as  a  candidate. 

I  never,  I  say,  could  understand  the  reason  of  Philip  Ringwood's 
success  in  life,  though  you  must  acknowledge  that  he  is  one  of  our 
most  eminent  dandies.  He  is  affable  to  dukes.  He  patronises 
marquises.  He  is  not  witty.  He  is  not  clever.  He  does  not  give 
good  dinners.  How  many  baronets  are  there  in  the  British  emi)ire  1 
Look  to  your  book,  and  see.  I  tell  you  there  are  many  of  these 
whom  Philip  Ringwood  would  scarcely  admit  to  wait  at  one  of  his 
bad  dinners.  By  calmly  asserting  himself  in  life,  this  man  has 
achieved  his  social  eminence.  We  may  hate  him  ;  but  we  acknow- 
ledge his  superiority.  For  instance,  I  should  as  soon  tliink  of 
asking  him  to  dine  with  me,  as  I  should  of  slapping  the  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury  on  the  back. 

Mr.  Ringwood  has  a  meagre  little  house  in  Mayfair,  and  belongs 
to  a  public  office  where  he  patronises  his  chef.  His  own  family 
bow  down  before  him ;  his  mother  is  humble  in  his  company  ;  his 
sisters  are  respectful ;  his  father  does  not  brag  of  his  own  Liberal 
principles,  and  never  alludes  to  the  Rights  of  Man  in  the  son's 
in-esence.  He  is  called  "Mr.  Ringwood"  in  the  family.  Tlie 
person  who  is  least  in  awe  of  him  is  his  younger  brother,  who  has 
been  known  to  make  faces  behind  the  elder's  back.  But  he  is  a 
dreadfully  headstrong  and  ignorant  child,  and  respects  nothing. 
Lady  Ringwood,  by  tlie  way,  is  Mr.  Ringwood's  stei)mother.  His 
own  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  noble  house,  and  died  in  giving 
biith  to  this  paragon. 

Piiilip  Firmin,  who  had  not  set  eyes  upon  his  kinsman  since 
they  were  at  school  together,  remem1)ered  some  stories  wiiich  were 
current  about  Ringwood,  and  by  no  means  to  that  eminent  dandy's 
credit— stories  of  intrigue,  of  play,  of  various  libertine  exjdoits  on 
Mr.  Ringwood's  part.  One  day  Philip  and  Charlotte  dined  with 
Sir  John,  who  was  talking  and  chirping,  and  laying  down  the  law, 
away  a(.'cording  to  iiis  wont,  when  his  son  entered  and 


598  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

asked  for  dinner.  He  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  dine  at 
Garterton  House.  The  Duke  had  one  of  his  attacks  of  gout  just 
before  dinner.  The  dinner  was  off.  If  Lady  Ringwood  would  give 
him  a  sHce  of  mutton,  he  would  be  very  much  obliged  to  her.  A 
place  was  soon  found  for  him.  "  And,  Philip,  this  is  your  name- 
sake, and  our  cousin,  Mr.  Philip  Firniin,"  said  the  Baronet,  present- 
ing his  son  to  his  kinsman. 

"  Your  father  used  to  give  me  sovereigns  when  I  was  at  school. 
I  have  a  fiiint  recollection  of  you,  too.  Little  white-headed  boy, 
weren't  you  ?     How  is  the  Doctor,  and  Mrs.  Firmin  1     All  right  1 " 

"  Why,  don't  you  know  his  father  ran  away  ? "  calls  out  the 
youngest  member  of  the  family.  "  Don't  kick  me,  Emily.  He  did 
run  away." 

Then  Mr.  Ringwood  remembered,  and  a  faint  blush  tinged  his 
face.  "  Lapse  of  time.  I  know.  Shouldn't  have  asked  after  such 
a  lapse  of  time."  And  he  mentioned  a  case  in  which  a  duke,  who 
was  very  forgetful,  had  asked  a  mar([uis  about  his  wife  who  had 
run  away  with  an  earl,  and  made  inquiries  about  the  duke's  son, 
who,  as  everybody  knew,  was  not  on  terms  witli  his  father. 

"This  is  Mrs.  Firmin  —  Mrs.  Philip  Firmin!"  cried  Lady 
Ringwood,  rather  nervously ;  and  I  suppose  Mrs.  Philip  blushed, 
and  the  blush  became  her ;  for  Mr.  Ringwood  afterwards  conde- 
scended to  say  to  one  of  his  sisters,  that  their  new-found  relative 
seemed  one  of  your  rough-and-ready  sort  of  gentlemen,  but  his  wife 
was  really  very  well-bred,  and  quite  a  pretty  young  woman,  and 
presentable  anywhere — really  anywhere.  Charlotte  was  asked  to 
sing  one  or  two  of  her  little  songs  after  dinner.  Mr.  Ringwood 
was  delighted.  Her  voice  was  perfectly  true.  What  she  sang,  she 
sang  admirably.  And  he  was  good  enough  to  hum  over  one  of  her 
songs  (during  which  performance  he  showed  that  his  voice  was 
not  exempt  from  little  frailties),  and  to  say  he  had  hearil  Lady 
Philomela  Shakerley  sing  that  very  song  at  Glenmavis,  last  autumn ; 
and  it  was  such  a  favourite  that  the  Duchess  asked  for  it  every 
night — actually  every  night.  When  our  friends  were  going  home, 
Mr.  Ringwood  gave  Philip  almost  the  whole  of  one  finger  to  shake  ; 
and  while  Philip  was  inwardly  raging  at  his  impertinence,  beheved 
that  he  had  entirely  fascinated  his  humble  relatives,  and  that  he 
had  been  most  good-natured  and  friendly. 

I  cannot  tell  why  this  man's  patronage  chafed  and  goaded  our 
worthy  friend  so  as  to  drive  him  beyond  the  bounds  of  all  poUteness 
and  reason.  The  artless  remarks  of  the  little  boy,  and  the  occasional 
simple  speeches  of  the  young  ladies,  had  only  tickled  Philip's 
humovu-,  and  served  to  amuse  him  when  he  met  his  relatives.  I 
suspect  it  was  a  certain  free-and-easy  manner  which  Mr.  Ringwood 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     599 

chose  to  adopt  to-\vard.s  Mrs.  Philip,  which  annoyed  her  hu.sl)and. 
He  had  said  nothing  at  which  offence  couhl  l)e  taken  :  perhaps  he 
was  quite  unconscious  of  offending  ;  nay,  thouglit  himself  eminently 
pleasing.  Perhaps  he  was  not  more  impertinent  towards  her  than 
towards  other  women  :  but  in  talking  about  him,  Mr.  Firmin's  eyes 
flashed  very  fiercely,  and  he  spoke  of  his  new  acciuaintance  and 
relative,  with  his  usual  extreme  candour,  as  an  upstart,  and  an 
arrogant  conceited  puppy  whose  ears  he  would  like  to  pull. 

How  do  good  women  learn  to  discover  men  who  are  not  goo<n 
Is  it  by  instinct  ]  How  do  they  learn  those  stories  a1x)ut  men  1 
I  protest  I  never  told  my  wife  anything  good  or  bad  regarding  this 
Mr.  Ringwood,  thougli  of  course,  as  a  man  about  town,  I  have 
heard — who  has  not? — little  anecdotes  regarding  liis  career.  His 
conduct  in  that  aft'air  with  Miss  Willowby  was  heartless  and  cruel ; 
his  l)chaviour  to  that  inihai>iiy  Blanche  Painter  nobody  can  defend. 
My  wife  conveys  her  opinion  regarding  Philip  Ringwood,  his  life, 
principles,  and  morality,  by  looks  and  silences  which  are  more  awful 
and  killing  than  the  bitterest  words  of  sarcasm  or  reproof.  Philip 
Firmiu,  who  knows  her  ways,  w^atches  her  features,  and,  as  I  have 
said,  humbles  himself  at  her  feet,  marked  the  lady's  aAvful  looks 
when  he  came  to  describe  to  us  his  meeting  with  his  cousin,  aiul 
the  magnificent  patronising  airs  which  Mr.  Ringwood  assumed. 

"What?"  he  said,  "you  don't  like  him  any  more  than  I  do? 
I  thought  you  would  not ;  and  I  am  so  glad." 

Philip's  frienil  said  she  did  not  know  Mr.  Ringwood,  and  had 
never  spoken  a  word  to  him  in  her  life. 

"Yes;  but  you  know  of  him,'"  cries  the  imjietuous  Firmiu. 
"What  do  you  know  of  him,  Avitli  his  monstrous  ^tuppyism  and 
arrogance?"  Oh,  Mrs.  Laura  knew  very  little  of  him.  She  did 
not  believe — she  had  nuich  rather  not  believe — what  the  world  said 
about  Mr.  Ringwood. 

"Suj)pose  we  were  to  ask  the  Woolcombs  their  opinion  of  your 
character,  Philij)?"  cries  that  gentleman's  biogra])her,  with  a  laugh. 

"  My  dear ! "  says  Laura,  with  a  yet  severer  look,  the  severity 
of  which  glance  I  nuist  exi)lain.  The  differences  of  Woolconib  and 
his  wife  were  notorious.  Their  unhappiiu'ss  was  known  to  all  the 
world.  Society  was  beginning  to  look  with  a  very  very  cold  face 
ujion  Mrs.  Woolconib.  After  cpiarrels,  jealousies,  liattles,  re<-oncilia- 
tious,  scenes  of  renewed  violence  and  fm-ious  language,  had  come 
inditterence,  and  the  most  reckless  gaiety  on  the  woman's  i)art. 
Her  home  was  splendid,  but  mean  and  nu'serable ;  all  sorts  of 
stories  were  rife  regarding  her  husbaiid's  brutal  treatment  of  i>oor 
Agnes,  and  her  own  imprudent  behavioui-.  Mrs.  Laura  was  indig- 
nant wlien  this  unhappy  woman's  name  was  ever  mentioned,  exeept 


600  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

when  slie  thought  how  our  warm  true-hearted  Philip  had  escaped 
from  the  lieartle.ss  creature.  "What  a  blessing  it  was  that  you 
were  ruined,  Pliilip,  and  that  she  deserted  you  ! "  Laura  would  say. 
"  What  fortune  would  repay  you  for  marrying  such  a  woman  1 " 

"Indeed  it  was  worth  all  I  had  to  lose  her,"  says  Philip,  "and 
so  the  Doctor  and  I  are  quits.  If  he  had  not  spent  my  fortune, 
Agnes  would  have  married  me.  If  she  had  married  me,  I  might 
have  turned  Othello,  and  have  been  hanged  for  smothering  her. 
Why,  if  I  had  not  been  poor,  I  should  never  have  been  married  to 
little  Char — and  fancy  not  being  married  to  Char  ! "  The  worthy 
fellow  here  lapses  into  silence,  aiid  indulges  in  an  inward  rapture  at 
the  idea  of  his  own  excessive  happiness.  Then  he  is  scared  again 
at  the  thouglit  which  his  own  imagination  has  raised. 

"I  say  !  Fancy  being  without  the  kids  and  Char  ! "  he  cries 
with  a  blank  look. 

"That  horrible  father  —  that  dreadful  mother — pardon  me, 
Philip  ;  but  wlien  I  think  of  the  worldliness  of  those  unhappy 
people,  and  how  that  poor  unhappy  woman  has  been  bred  in  it, 
and  ruined  by  it — I  am  so,  so,  so  enraged,  that  I  can't  keep  my 
temper ! "  cries  the  lady.  "  Is  the  woman  answerable,  or  the 
parents,  who  hardened  her  heart,  and  sold  her — sold  her  to  that 

0  !  "     Our  illustrious  friend  Woolcomb  was  signified  by  "  that 

0  ; "  and  the  lady  once  more  paused,  choked  with  wrath  as  she 
thought  about  tliat  0,  and  that  O's  wife. 

"  I  wonder  he  has  not  Othello'd  her,"  remarks  Philip,  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets.  "  I  should,  if  she  had  been  mine,  and  gone  on 
as  they  say  she  is  going  on." 

"It  is  dreadful  dreadful  to  contemplate  ! "  continues  the  lady. 
"  To  think  she  was  sold  by  her  own  parents,  poor  thing,  poor  thing ! 
The  guilt  is  with  them  who  led  her  wrong." 

"  Nay,"  says  one  of  the  three  interlocutors.  "  Why  stop  at  poor 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Twysden  1  Why  not  let  them  off,  and  accuse  their 
parents,  who  live<i  worldly  too  in  their  generation  1  Or  stay  :  they 
descend  from  William  the  Conqueror.  Let  us  absolve  poor  Talbot 
Twysden  and  his  heartless  wife,  and  have  the  Norman  into  court." 

"Ah,  Arthur!  Did  not  our  sin  begin  with  the  beginning ?" 
cries  the  lady,  "and  have  we  not  its  remedy?  Oh,  this  poor 
creature,  this  poor  creature  !  May  she  know  where  to  take  refuge 
from  it,  and  learn  to  repent  in  time  !  " 

The  Georgian  and  Circassian  girls,  they  say,  used  to  submit  to 
their  lot  very  complacently,  and  were  quite  eager  to  get  to  market 
at  Constantinople  and  be  sold.  Mrs.  Woolcomb  wanted  nobody  to 
tempt  her  away  from  poor  Philip.  She  hopped  away  from  the  old 
love  as  soon  as  ever  the  new  one  appeared  with  his  bag  of  money. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     601 

She  knew  «iuite  well  to  whom  she  was  selling  herself,  and  fur  what. 
The  tempter  needed  no  skill,  or  artifice,  or  eloquence.  He  had 
none.  But  he  showed  her  a  purse,  and  three  fine  houses — and  she 
came.  Innocent  child,  forsooth  !  She  knew  quite  as  much  about 
the  world  as  papa  and  mamma ;  and  the  lawyers  did  not  look  to 
her  settlement  more  warily,  and  coolly,  than  she  herself  did.  Did 
she  not  live  on  it  afterwards  1  I  do  not  say  she  lived  reputably, 
but  most  comfortably  :  as  Paris,  and  Rome,  and  Naples,  A,\d  Florence 
can  tell  you,  where  she  is  well  known ;  where  she  receiV  3S  a  great 
deal  of  a  certain  kind  of  company  ;  where  she  is  scorned  and  flattered, 
and  splendid,  and  lonely,  and  miserable.  She  is  not  miserable  when 
she  sees  children  :  she  does  not  care  for  other  person's  children,  as 
she  never  <lid  for  her  own,  even  when  they  were  taken  from  her. 
She  is  of  course  hurt  and  angry,  when  quite  common  vulgar  i)eo])le, 
not  in  society,  you  understand,  turn  away  from  her,  and  avoid  her, 
and  won't  come  to  her  parties.  She  gives  excellent  dinners  which 
jolly  fogeys,  rattling  bachelors,  and  doubtful  ladies  frequent :  but 
she  is  alone  and  unhappy — unhappy  bet'ause  she  does  not  see  i)arents, 
sister,  or  brother?  Allons,  man  ban  monsieur  !  She  never  cared 
for  parents,  sister,  or  brother  ;  or  for  baby  ;  or  for  man  (except  once 
for  Philip  a  little  little  bit,  when  her  pulse  would  sometimes  go  up 
two  beats  in  a  minute  at  his  ap])earance).  But  she  is  unhappy, 
because  she  is  losing  her  figure,  and  from  tight  lacing  her  nose  has 
become  very  red,  and  the  pearl  powder  won't  lie  on  it  somehow. 
And  though  you  may  have  thought  Woolcomb  an  odious,  ignorant, 
and  underbred  little  wretch,  you  must  own  that  at  least  he  had  red 
blood  in  his  veins.  Diil  he  not  sjjcnd  a  great  part  of  his  fortune  for 
tiie  possession  of  tliis  cold  wife  ?  For  whom  did  she  ever  make  a 
sacrifice,  or  feel  a  pang  ?  I  am  sure  a  greater  misfortune  than  any 
which  has  befallen  friend  Philip  might  have  happened  to  him,  and 
so  congratulate  him  on  his  escape. 

Having  vented  his  wrath  upon  the  arrogance  and  impertinence 
of  this  s(jlemn  pnppy  of  a  Philip  Ringwood,  our  friend  went  away 
somewhat  soothed  to  his  club  in  St.  James's  Street.  The  "  Mega- 
therium Club  "  is  only  a  very  few  doors  from  the  nuich  more  aristo- 
cratic establishment  of  "  Black's."  Mr.  Philip  Ringwood  and  Mr. 
Woolcomb  were  standing  on  tlie  steps  of  "  Black's."  Mr.  RingMood 
waved  a  graceful  little  kid-gloved  hand  to  Philip,  and  smiled  on 
him.  Mr.  Woolcomb  glared  at  our  friend  out  of  his  opal  eyeballs. 
Philip  had  once  proposed  to  kick  Woolcomb  into  the  sea.  He 
someliow  felt  as  if  he  would  like  to  treat  Ringwood  to  the  same 
bath.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Ringwood  laboin-ed  under  tlie  notion  that 
he  and  his  new-found  ac(iuaiiitance  were  on  the  very  best  possible 
terms. 


602  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

At  one  time  poor  little  Woolcomb  loved  to  be  seen  with  Philip 
Ringwood.  He  thought  he  acquired  distinction  from  the  companion- 
ship of  that  man  of  fashion,  and  would  hang  on  Ringwood  as  they 
walked  the  Pall  Mall  pavement. 

"Do  you  know  that  great  hulking  overbearing  brute?"  says 
Woolcomb  to  his  companion  on  the  steps  of  "  Black's."  Perhaps 
somebody  overheard  them  from  the  bow  window.  (I  tell  you  every- 
thing is  overheard  in  London,  and  a  great  deal  more  too.) 

"Brute,  is  he?"  says  Ringwood:  "seems  a  rough  overbearing 
sort  of  chap." 

"  Blackguard  Doctor's  son.  Banknipt.  Father  ran  away,"  says 
the  dusky  man  witli  the  oi)al  eyeballs. 

"  I  have  heard  he  was  a  rogue — the  Doctor ;  but  I  like 
him.  Remember  he  gave  me  three  sovereigns  when  I  was  at 
school.  Always  like  a  fellow  who  tips  you  when  you  are  at 
school."  And  here  Ringwood  beckoned  his  brougham  which  was 
in  waiting. 

"Shall  we  see  you  at  dinner?  Where  are  you  going?"  asked 
Mr.  Woolcomb.     "  If  you  are  going  towards " 

"  Towards  Gray's  Inn,  to  see  my  lawyer ;  have  an  appointment 
there ;  be  with  you  at  eight ! "  Ajid  Mr.  Ringwood  skipped  into 
his  little  brougham  and  was  gone. 

Tom  Eaves  told  Philip.  Tom  Eaves  belongs  to  "  Black's  Club," 
to  "  Bays's,"  to  the  "  Megatherium,"  I  don't  know  to  how  many 
clubs  in  St.  James's  Street.  Tom  Eaves  knows  everybody's 
business,  and  all  the  scandal  of  all  the  clubs  for  the  last  forty  years. 
He  knows  who  has  lost  money  and  to  whom ;  what  is  the  talk  of 
the  opera-box  and  what  the  scandal  of  the  coulisses  ;  -who  is  making 
love  to  whose  daughter.  Whatever  men  and  women  are  doing  in 
Mayfair,  is  the  farrago  of  Tom's  libel.  He  knows  so  many  stories, 
that  of  course  he  makes  mistakes  in  names  sometimes,  and  says 
that  Jones  is  on  the  verge  of  ruin,  when  he  is  thriving  and  prosper- 
ous, and  it  is  poor  Brown  who  is  in  difficulties;  or  informs  us  that 
Mrs.  Fanny  is  flirting  with  Captain  Ogle  when  both  are  as  innocent 
nf  a  flirtation  as  you  and  I  are.  Tom  certainly  is  mischievous, 
and  often  is  wrong ;    but  when   he  speaks   of  our  neighbours  he 


is  amusing. 


"  It  is  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  Ringwood  and  Othello  together," 
says  Tom  to  Philip.  "  How  proud  the  black  man  is  to  be  seen  with 
him  !  Heard  him  abuse  you  to  Ringwood.  Ringwood  stuck  up  for 
you  and  for  your  poor  governor — spoke  up  like  a  man — like  a  man 
who  sticks  up  for  a  fellow  who  is  down.  How  the  black  man 
brags  about  having  Ringwood  to  dinner !  Always  having  him  to 
dinner  !     You  should  have  seen  Ringwood  shake  him  ofl" !     Said 


MORE    KUKE    THAN    WEI-fOME. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      eo.S 

he  was  soing  to  Gray's  Imi.      Heard  him  say  Gray's  Inn  Lano 
to  his  man.     Don't  believe  a  word  of  it." 

Now  I  daresay  you  are  much  too  fashionable  to  know  that 
Milraan  Street  is  a  little  cul  cle  sac  of  a  street,  Avhich  leads  into 
Guilford  Street,  which  leads  into  Gray's  Inn  Lane.  Philip  went 
his  way  homewards,  shaking  off  Tom  Eaves,  who,  for  his  part, 
trotted  off  to  his  other  clubs,  telling  people  how  he  had  just  been 
talking  with  that  bankrupt  Doctor's  son,  and  wondering  how  Philip 
should  get  money  enough  to  pay  liis  club  subscription.  Philip  then 
went  on  his  way,  striding  homewards  at  his  usual  manly  pace. 

Whose  black  brougham  was  that  ? — the  black  brougham  with 
the  chestnut  horse  Malking  up  and  down  Guilford  Street.  Mr. 
Ringwood's  crest  was  on  the  brougham.  Wlion  Philip  entei'cd  his 
drawing-room,  having  opened  the  door  witli  his  own  key,  there  sat 
Mr.  Ringwood,  talking  to  Mrs.  Charlotte,  who  was  taking  a  cup  of 
tea  at  five  o'clock.  She  and  the  children  liked  that  cup  of  tea. 
Sometimes  it  served  Mrs.  Char  for  diriner  when  Philip  dined  fi"om 
home. 

"  If  I  had  known  you  were  coming  here,  you  might  li-ave  brought 
me  home  and  saved  me  a  long  walk,"  said  Philip,  wiping  a  burning 
forehead. 

"  So  I  might — so  I  might,"  said  the  other.  "  I  never  thought 
of  it.  I  had  to  see  my  lawyer  in  Gray's  Inn  ;  and  it  was  then 
I  thought  of  coming  on  to  see  you,  as  I  was  telling  Mrs.  Firmin  ; 
and  a  very  nice  quiet  place  you  live  in  ! " 

This  was  very  well.  But  for  the  fii'st  and  only  time  of  his  life 
Philip  was  jealous. 

"  Don't  rub  so  with  your  feet  !  Don't  like  to  ride  when  you 
jog  so  on  the  Hoor,"  s;ud  Philip's  eldest  darling,  who  liad  clambered 
on  papa's  knee.  "Why  do  you  look  sol  Don't  squeeze  my  arm, 
papa ! " 

Mamma  was  utterly  unaware  that  Philip  had  any  cause  for 
agitation.  "  You  have  walked  all  the  way  from  Westminster,  and 
the  club,  and  you  are  quite  hot  and  tired  !  "  she  said.  "  Some  tea, 
my  dear  ] " 

Philij)  nearly  dioked  with  the  tea.  IVom  un(h'r  his  hair, 
which  fell  over  his  forehead,  he  looked  into  his  wife's  face.  It 
wore  such  a  sweet  look  of  innocence  and  wonder,  that,  as  he 
regarded  her,  the  spasm  of  jealousy  ])asse(l  off.  No:  there  was  no 
look  of  guilt  in  those  tender  eyes.  Philij)  could  only  read  in  them 
the  wife's  tender  love  and  anxiety  for  himsrlf. 

But  what  of  Mr.  Ringwood's  face?  When  tlic  first  little  blush 
and  hesitation  had  ])assed  away,  Mr.  Ringwoo(l's  jtale  countenance 
reassumed  that  calm  self-satisfied  smile,  whicii  it  customarily  wore. 


60i  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  The   coolness   of  the   man   maddened    me,"   said   Philip,   talking 
about  the  little  occurrence  afterwards,  and  to  his  usual  confidant. 

"  Gracious  Powers,"  cries  the  other.  "  If  I  went  to  see 
Charlotte  and  the  children,  would  you  be  jealous  of  me,  you 
bearded  Turk?  Are  you  prepared  with  sack  and  bowstring  for 
every  man  who  visits  Mrs.  Firmin  ?  If  you  are  to  come  out  in  tliis 
character,  you  will  lead  yourself  and  your  wife  pretty  lives.  Of 
course  you  quarrelled  with  Lovelace  then  and  there,  and  threatened 
to  throw  him  out  of  window  then  and  there  1  Your  custom  is  to 
strike  when  you  are  liot,  witness " 

"Oh  dear  no!"  cried  Philip,  interrupting  me.  "I  have  not 
quarrelled  with  him  yet."  And  he  ground  his  teeth,  and  gave  a 
very  fierce  glare  with  his  eyes.  "  I  sat  him  out  quite  civilly.  I 
went  with  him  to  the  door ;  and  I  have  left  directions  that  he  is 
never  to  pass  it  again — that's  all.  But  I  have  not  quarrelled  with 
him  in  the  least.  Two  men  never  behaved  more  politely  than  we 
did.  We  bowed  and  grinned  at  each  other  quite  amiably.  But  I 
own,  when  he  held  out  his  hand,  I  was  obliged  to  keep  mine  behind 

my  back,  for  they  felt  very  mischievous,  and  inclined  to Well, 

never  mind.     Perhaps  it  is  as  you  say ;  and  he  meant  no  sort  of 
harm." 

Where,  I  say  again,  do  women  learn  all  the  mischief  they  know  ? 
Why  should  my  wife  have  such  a  mistrust  and  horror  of  this  gentle- 
man? She  took  Philip's  side  entirely.  She  said  she  thought  he 
was  quite  right  in  keeping  that  person  out  of  his  house.  What  did 
she  know  about  that  person?  Did  I  not  know  myself?  He  was  a 
libertine,  and  led  a  bad  life.  He  had  led  young  men  astray,  and 
tauglit  them  to  gamble,  and  helped  them  to  ruin  themselves.  We 
have  all  heard  stories  about  the  late  Sir  Philip  Ringwood :  that  last 
scandal  in  which  he  was  engaged,  three  years  ago,  and  which  brought 
his  career  to  an  end  at  Naples,  I  need  not,  of  course,  allude  to. 
But  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  ago,  about  which  time  this  present 
portion  of  our  little  story  is  enacted,  what  did  she  know  about 
Ringwood's  misdoings  1 

No  :  Philip  Firmin  did  not  quarrel  with  Philip  Ringwood  on 
this  occasion.  But  he  shut  his  door  on  Mr.  Ringwood.  He 
refused  all  invitations  to  Sir  John's  house,  whicli,  of  course,  came 
less  frequently,  and  which  then  ceased  to  come  at  all.  Rich  folks 
do  not  like  to  be  so  treated  by  the  poor.  Had  Lady  Ringwood  a 
notion  of  the  reason  why  Philip  kept  away  from  her  house  1  I  think 
it  is  more  than  possible.  Some  of  Philip's  friends  knew  her ;  and 
she  seemed  only  i)ained,  not  surprised  or  angry,  at  a  quarrel  whicli 
somehow  did  take  jilace  iK-tween  the  two  gentlemen  not  very  long 
after  that  visit  of  Mr.  Ringwood  to  his  kinsman  in  Milmau  Street. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      605 

"Your  friend  seems  very  hot-headed  and  violent-tempered," 
Lady  Ringwood  said,  si)eaking  of  that  very  quarrel.  "  I  am  sorry 
he  keeps  that  kind  of  company.  I  am  sure  it  must  be  too  expensive 
for  him." 

As  luck  would  have  it,  Philip's  old  school-friend,  Lord  Egham, 
met  us  a  very  few  days  after  the  meeting  and  i)arting  of  Philip  and 
his  cousin  in  Milman  Street,  and  invited  us  to  a  bachelor's  dinner 
on  tlie  river.  Our  Avives  (without  whose  sanction  no  good  man 
would  surely  ever  look  a  whitebait  in  the  face)  gave  us  permission 
to  attend  this  entertainment,  and  remained  at  home,  and  jiartook  of 
a  tea-dinner  (blessings  on  them  !)  with  the  dear  children.  Men 
grow  young  again  when  they  meet  at  these  parties.  We  talk  of 
flogging,  pro(^tors,  old  cronies  ;  we  recite  old  school  and  college 
jokes.  I  hope  that  some  of  us  may  carry  on  these  pleasant  enter- 
tainments until  we  are  fourscore,  and  that  our  toothless  old  gums 
will  uunnble  the  old  stories,  and  will  laugh  over  the  old  jokes  with 
ever-renewed  gusto.  Does  the  kind  reader  remember  the  account 
of  such  a  dinner  at  the  commencement  of  this  liistory  ?  On  this 
afternoon,  Egham,  Maynard,  Burroughs  (several  of  the  men  formerly 
mentioned),  reassembled.  I  think  we  actually  like  each  other  well 
enough  to  be  i)leased  to  hear  of  eax-h  other's  successes.  I  know  that 
one  or  two  gooil  fellows,  ui)on  whom  fortune  has  frowned,  have 
found  other  good  fellows  in  that  company  to  help  and  aid  them ; 
and  that  all  are  better  for  that  kindly  freemasonry. 

Before  the  dinner  Avas  served,  the  guests  met  on  the  green  of  the 
hotel,  and  examined  that  fair  landscape,  which  surely  does  not  lose 
its  charm  in  our  eyes  becanse  it  is  commonly  seen  before  a  good 
dinner.  Tlie  crested  elms,  the  shining  river,  the  emerald  meadows, 
the  painted  i)arterres  of  flowers  around,  all  wafting  an  agi-eeable 
smell  of  friture,  of  flowers  and  flounders  exquisitely  commingled. 
Who  has  not  enjoyed  these  delights  1  May  some  of  us,  T  say,  live 
to  drink  the  '58  claret  in  the  year  1900  !  I  have  no  ddubt  that 
the  survivors  of  our  society  will  still  laugh  at  the  j()kcs  which  we 
used  to  relish  when  the  ])resent  century  was  still  only  niiddle-ag((l. 
Egham  was  going  to  be  married.  Would  he  be  allowed  to  dine 
next  year?  Frank  Berry's  wife  would  not  let  him  conu-.  Do  you 
remember  his  tremendous  fight  witli  Biggs  1  Remember  ?  who 
didn't?  Marston  Avas  Berry's  bottle-holder;  poor  Marston,  Avho 
was  killed  in  Lidia.  And  Biggs  and  Berry  wen;  the  closest  friends 
in  life  ever  after.  Who  would  ever  have  thought  of  Brackley  be- 
coming serious,  and  being  made  an  archdeacon  1  Do  you  remember 
his  figlit  with  Ringwood  1  What  an  infernal  bully  lie  was,  and 
liow  ghid  we  all  were  when  Brackley  thrashed  him.  AVliat  different 
fates  await  men  !     Who  would  ever  have  imadned  Nosey  Brackley 


606  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

a  curate  in  the  raining  districts,  and  ending  by  wearing  a  rosette 
in  his  hat  ?  Who  would  ever  have  thought  of  Ringwood  becoming 
such  a  prodigious  swell  and  leatler  of  fashion  1  He  was  a  very  shy 
fellow  ;  not  at  all  a  good-looking  fellow  :  and  what  a  wild  fellow 
he  had  become,  and  what  a  lady-killer !  Isn't  he  some  connection 
of  yours,  Firmin  1  Philip  said  yes,  but  that  he  had  scarcely  met 
Ringwood  at  all.  And  one  man  after  another  told  anecdotes  of 
Ringwood  :  how  he  had  young  men  to  play  in  his  house ;  how  he 
had  played  in  that  very  "Star  and  Garter";  and  how  he  always 
won.  You  must  please  to  remember  that  our  story  dates  back 
some  sixteen  years,  when  the  dice-box  still  rattled  occasionally,  and 
the  king  was  turned. 

As  this  old  school  gossip  is  going  on,  Lord  Egham  arrives,  and 
with  him  this  very  Ringwood  about  whom  the  old  schoolfellows 
had  just  been  talking.  He  came  down  in  Egham's  phaeton.  Of 
course,  the  greatest  man  of  tlie  party  always  waits  for  Ringwood. 
"  If  we  had  had  a  duke  at  Greyfriars,"  says  some  grumbler, 
"  Ringwood  would  have  made  the  duke  bring  him  down." 

Philip's  friend,  when  he  beheld  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Ringwood, 
seized  Firmin's  big  arm,  and  whispered — 

"  Hold  your  tongue.  No  fighting.  No  quarrels.  Let  bygones 
be  bygones.     Remember,  there  can  be  no  earthly  use  in  a  scandal." 

"  Leave  me  alone,"  says  Philip,  "  and  don't  be  afraid." 

I  thought  Ringwood  seemed  to  start  back  for  a  moment,  and 
perhaps  fancied  that  he  looked  a  little  pale,  but  he  advanced  with 
a  gracious  smile  towards  Philip,  and  remarked,  "  It  is  a  long  time 
since  we  have  seen  you  at  my  father's." 

Philip  grinned  and  smiled  too.  "  It  was  a  long  time  since  he 
had  been  in  Hill  Street."  And  Philip's  smile  was  not  at  all  pleasing 
to  behold.  Indeed,  a  worse  performer  of  comedy  than  oiu:  friend 
does  not  walk  the  stage  of  this  life. 

On  this  the  other  gaily  remarked  he  was  glad  Philip  had  leave 
ti )  join  the  bachelor's  party.  "  Meeting  of  old  schoolfellows  very 
pleasant.  Hadn't  been  to  one  of  them  for  a  long  time  :  tliougli  the 
'  Friars '  was  an  abominable  hole  :  that  was  the  truth.  Who  was 
that  in  the  shovel-hat — a  bishop  1  what  bishop  ] " 

It  was  Brackley,  the  Archdeacon,  who  turned  very  red  on  seeing 
Ringwood.  For  the  fact  is,  Brackley  was  talking  to  Pennystone, 
tlie  little  boy  about  whom  the  quarrel  and  fight  had  taken  place  at 
school,  when  Ringwood  had  proposed  forcibly  to  take  Pennystone's 
money  from  liim.  "  I  think,  Mr.  Ringwood,  that  Pennystone  is 
big  enough  to  hold  his  own  now,  don't  you  1 "  said  the  Archdeacon ; 
and  with  this  the  Venerable  man  turned  on  his  heel,  leaving  Ring- 
wood  to  face  the  little  Pennystoue  of  former  years  :  now  a  gigantic 


ON    HIS    WAY    THKOUGH    THE    WORLD     G()7 

country  .S(iuirc,  with  liealtli  ringiug  in  his  voice,  and  a  pair  of  great 
arms  and  fists  tliat  Avould  have  demolished  six  Ringwoods  in  the 
field. 

The  sight  of  these  quondam  enemies  rather  disturbed  Mr. 
Ringw'ood's  tranqu'Jlity. 

"  I  was  dreadfully  bullied  at  that  school,"  he  said  in  an  aj)i)eal- 
ing  manner  to  Mr.  Pennystone.  "  I  did  as  others  did.  It  was  a 
liorrible  place,  and  I  hate  the  name  of  it.  I  say,  Eghani,  don't  you 
think  that  Barnaby's  motion  last  night  was  very  ill-timed,  and  that 
the  Chancellor  of  the  P]xcheqner  answered  him  very  neatly  'I  " 

This  became  a  cant  phrase  amongst  some  of  us  wags  afterwards. 
Whenever  we  wished  to  change  a  conversation,  it  was,  "I  say, 
Egham,  don't  you  think  Barnaby's  motion  was  very  ill-timed ;  and 
that  the  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  answered  him  very  neatly  1  " 
You  know  Mr.  Ringwood  would  scarcely  have  thought  of  coming 
amongst  such  common  people  as  his  old  schoolfellows,  but  seeing 
Lord  Egham's  phaeton  at  "  Black's,"  he  condescended  to  drive  down 
to  Richmond  with  his  Lordship,  and  I  ho))e  a  great  number  of  his 
friends  in  St.  James's  Street  saw  him  in  tliat  noble  company. 

Windham  was  tlie  (chairman  of  the  evening — elected  to  that 
post  beciause  he  is  very  fond  of  making  speeclies  to  which  he  does 
not  in  the  least  expect  you  to  listen.  All  men  of  sense  are  glad  to 
hand  over  this  office  to  him  :  and  I  hope,  for  my  part,  a  day  will 
soon  arrive  (but  I  own,  mind  you,  that  I  do  not  carve  well)  when 
we  shall  have  the  speeches  done  by  a  skilled  waiter  at  the  side- 
table,  as  we  now  have  the  carving.  Don't  you  find  that  you  splash 
the  gravy,  that  you  mangle  the  meat,  that  you  can't  nick  the  joint 
in  helping  th.e  company  to  a  dinner-speech  1  I,  for  my  })art,  own 
that  I  am  in  a  state  of  tremor  and  absence  of  mind  before  the 
operation  ;  in  a  condition  of  imbecility  tluring  the  business  ;  and 
that  I  am  sure  of  a  headache  and  indigestion  the  next  morning. 
What  then "?     Have  I  not  seen  one  of  the  bravest  men  in  the  world, 

at  a  City  dinner  last  year,  in  a  state  of  equal  })anic  ?- 1  feel  that 

I  am  wandcriug  from  Pliilip's  adventures  to  his  biograjjlier's,  and 
confess  I  am  tliinking  of  the  dismal  Jiasco  I  myself  made  on  tlus 
occasion  at  the  Richmond  diimer. 

You  see,  the  ordei"  of  the  day  at  tliese  meetings  is  to  joke  at 
everything — to  joke  at  the  chairman,  at  all  the  speakers,  at  the 
army  and  navy,  at  the  venerable  the  legislature,  at  the  bar  and 
bench,  and  so  forth.  If  we  toast  a  liarrister,  we  sh(jw  liow 
admirably  he  would  have  figured  in  the  tlock  :  if  a  sailor,  how 
lamentably  sea-sick  he  was  :  if  a  soldier,  how  nimbly  he  ran  a\vay. 
For  exam]»le,  we  drank  tiie  Venerable  Archdeacon  l>rackley  and  tiie 
ai'my.      We  deplored  tlie  perversencss  which  had  led  iiim  to  adopt 


608  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

a  black  coat  instead  of  a  red.  War  had  evidently  been  his  vocation, 
as  he  had  shown  by  the  frequent  battles  in  which  he  had  been 
engaged  at  scliool.  For  wliat  was  the  other  great  warrior  of  the 
age  famous  ?  for  that  Roman  feature  in  his  face,  which  distinguished, 
which  gave  a  name  to,  our  Brackley — a  name  by  which  we  fondlv 
clung  (cries  of  "  Nosey,  Nosey  !  ").  Might  that  feature  ornament 
ere  long  the  face  of — of  one  of  tlie  chiefs  of  that  army  of  whicii 

he  was  a  distinguished  field-officer  !     Might Here  I  confess  I 

fairly  broke  down,  lost  the  thread  of  my  joke— at  which  Brackley 
seemed  to  look  rather  severe — and  finished  the  speech  with  a  gobble 
about  regard,  esteem,  everybody  respect  you,  and  good  healtli,  old 
boy — which  answered  quite  as  well  as  a  finished  oration,  however 
the  author  might  be  discontented  with  it. 

The  Arclideacon's  little  sermon  was  very  brief,  as  the  discourses 
of  sensible  divines  sometimes  will  be.  He  was  glad  to  meet  old 
friends— to  make  friends  with  old  foes  (loud  cries  of  "  Bravo, 
Nosey  !  ").  In  the  battle  of  life,  every  man  nuist  meet  with  a  blow 
or  two  ;  and  every  brave  one  woidd  take  his  fiicer  with  good-liumour. 
.Had  he  quarrelled  with  any  old  schoolfellow  in  old  times?  He 
wore  peace  not  only  on  his  coat,  but  in  his  heart.  Peace  and 
go(Klwill  were  the  words  of  the  day  in  the  army  to  which  he  be- 
longed ;  and  he  lioped  that  all  officers  in  it  were  animated  by  one 
esjirit  de  corps. 

A  silence  ensued,  during  which  men  looked  towards  Mr.  Ring- 
wood,  as  the  "  old  foe "  towards  whom  the  Archdeacon  had  held 
out  the  hand  of  amity :  but  Ringwood,  who  had  listened  to  the 
Archdeacon's  speech  witli  an  expression  of  great  disgust,  did  not 
rise  from  his  chair— only  remarking  to  his  neighbour  Egham,  "  Why 
should  I  get  up  1  Hang  him,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I  say,  Egliam, 
why  did  you  induce  me  to  come  into  this  kind  of  thing?" 

Fearing  tliat  a  collision  might  take  place  between  Pliilip  and 
his  kinsman,  I  had  drawn  Pliilip  away  from  the  place  in  the  room 
to  which  Lord  Egliam  beckoned  him,  saying,  "  Never  mind,  Philip, 
about  sitting  by  the  lord,"  by  whose  side  I  knew  perfectly  well 
that  Mr.  Ringwood  would  find  a  place.  But  it  was  our  lot  to  be 
separateil  from  liis  Lordship  by  merely  the  table's  breadth,  and 
some  intervening  vases  of  flowers  and  fruits  through  which  we  could 
see  and  hear  our  opposite  neighbours.  When  Ringwood  spoke  of 
"  this  kind  of  tiling,"  Philip  glared  across  the  table,  and  started  as 
if  he  was  going  to  speak  ;  but  his  neighbour  pinched  him  on  the 
knee,  and  whispered  to  him,  "Silence — no  scandal.  Remember." 
The .  other  fell  back,  swallowed  a  glass  of  wine,  and  made  me  far 
from  comfortable  by  performing  a  tattoo  on  my  c-liair. 

Tlie  speeches  went  on.     If  they  were  not  more  eloquent  they 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     609 

were  more  noisy  and  lively  than  before.  Then  the  aid  of  song  was 
called  in  to  enliven  the  banquet.  The  Arohdeucon,  who  had  looked 
a  little  uneasy  for  the  last  half-hour,  rose  up  at  the  call  for  a  song, 
and  quitted  the  room.  "  Let  us  go  too.  Philip,"  said  Pliilip's 
neighbour.  "You  don't  want  to  hear  those  dreadful  old  college 
songs  over  again  ? "  But  Philip  sulkily  said,  "  You  go,  I  should 
like  to  stay." 

Lord  Egham  was  seeing  the  last  of  his  bachelor  life.  He  liked 
those  last  evenings  to  be  merry  ;  he  lingered  over  them,  and  did 
not  wish  them  to  end  too  quickly.  His  neighbour  was  long  since 
tired  of  tlie  entertainment,  and  sick  of  our  company.  Mr.  Ring- 
wood  liad  lived  of  late  in  a  woild  of  such  fashion  that  ordinary 
mortals  were  despicable  to  him.  He  luid  no  aflectionate  remem- 
brance of  his  early  days,  or  of  anybody  belonging  to  them.  Whilst 
Philip  was  singing  his  song  of  "Doctor  Luther,"  I  was  glad 
that  he  could  not  see  the  face  of  sur})rise  and  disgust  which  his 
kinsman  bore.  Other  vocal  performances  followed,  including  a 
song  by  Lord  Egham,  which,  I  am  bound  to  say,  was  hideously 
out  of  tune  ;  but  was  received  by  his  near  neighbour  complacently 
enough. 

Tlie  noise  now  began  to  increase,  the  choruses  were  fuller,  the 
speeches  were  louder  and  more  incoherent.  I  don't  think  the 
(M)mpany  heard  a  speech  by  little  Mr.  Van  John,  whose  health  was 
drunk  as  representative  of  the  British  Turf,  and  who  said  that  he 
had  never  known  anything  about  the  turf  or  about  play,  until  their 
old  schoolfelU)w,  liis  dear  friend — his  swell  friend,  if  he  might  be 
permitted  tlie  expression — Mr.  Ringf^vood,  taught  him  the  use  of 
cards ;  and  once,  in  his  own  house,  in  Mayfair,  and  once  in  this 
very  house,  the  "  Star  and  Garter,"  showed  him  how  to  play  the 
noble  game  of  Blind  Hookey.  "The  men  are  drunk.  Let  us  go 
away,  Egham.  I  didn't  come  for  this  kind  of  thing  ! "  cried  Ring- 
wood,  furious,  by  Lord  Egham's  side. 

This  was  the  expression  wliich  Mr.  Ringwoo<l  had  used  a  short 
time  before,  when  Philip  was  about  to  interru])t  him.  He  had 
lifted  his  gun  to  fire  then,  but  his  hand  had  been  held  back.  The 
bird  i)assed  him  once  more,  and  he  could  not  help  taking  aim. 
"  Tliis  kind  of  thing  is  very  dull,  isn't  it,  Ringwood  1 "  he  called 
across  the  table,  pulling  away  a  flower,  and  glaring  at  the  otlicr 
througli  tlie  little  o])en  space. 

"  Dull,  old  boy  ?  I  call  it  doosed  gooil  fun,"  cries  Lord  Egham, 
in  tlie  lieight  of  good-humour. 

"  Diiin     What  do  you  meanl"  asked  my  Lord's  neighbour. 

"  I  mean  you  would  prefer  having  a  coujile  of  packs  of  cards, 
and  a  little  room,  where  vou  could  win  tliiec  or  i'onv  hundred  from 
11  '  2  Q 


6lO  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

a  young  fellow  1     It's  more  profitable  and  more  quiet  than   '  this 
kind  of  thing.' " 

"  I  say,  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  !  "  cries  the  other. 

"  What !  You  have  forgotten  already '?  Has  not  Van  John 
just  told  you,  how  you  and  Mr.  Deuceace  brought  him  down  here, 
and  won  his  money  from  him;  and  then  how  you  gave  him  his 
revenge  at  your  own  house  in " 

"  Did  I  come  here  to  be  insulted  by  that  fellow  1 "  cries  Mr. 
Ringwood,  appealing  to  his  neighbour. 

"  If  that  is  an  insult,  you  may  put  it  in  your  pipe  an<l  smoke 
it,  Mr.  Ringwood  !  "  cries  Philip. 

"  Come  away,  come  away,  Egham !  Don't  keep  me  here 
listening  to  this  bla " 

"  If  you  say  another  word,"  says  Philip,  "  I'll  send  this 
decanter  at  your  head  !  " 

"  Come,  come — nonsense  !  No  quarrelling  !  Make  it  up  ! 
Everybody  has  had  too  much !  Get  the  bill,  and  order  the 
omnibus  round  !  "  A  crowd  was  on  one  side  of  the  table,  and  the 
other.  One  of  the  cousins  had  not  the  least  wish  that  the  quarrel 
should  proceed  any  furtlier. 

When,  being  in  a  quarrel,  Philip  Firmin  assumes  the  calm  and 
stately  manner,  he  is  perhaps  in  his  most  dangerous  state.  Lord 
Egiiam's  phaeton  (in  which  Mr.  Ringwood  showed  a  great  unwilling- 
ness to  take  a  seat  by  the  driver)  was  at  the  hotel  gate,  an  omnibus 
and  a  private  carriage  or  two  were  in  readiness  to  take  home  the 
other  guests  of  the  feast.  Egham  went  into  the  hotel  to  light  a 
final  cigar,  and  now  Philip,  springing  forward,  caught  by  the  arm 
the  gentleman  sitting  on  the  front  seat  of  the  phaeton. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  said.     "  You  used  a  word  just  now " 

"  What  word  1  I  don't  know  anytliing  about  words  !  "  cries 
the  other  in  a  loud  voice. 

"  You  said  '  insulted,'  "  murmured  Philip,  in  the  gentlest  tone. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  said,"  said  Ringwood  peevishly. 

"  I  said,  in  reply  to  the  words  which  you  forget,  '  that  I  would 
knock  you  down,'  or  words  to  that  effect.  If  you  feel  in  the  least 
aggrieved,  you  know  where  my  chambers  are — with  Mr.  Van  John, 
whom  you  and  your  mistress  inveigled  to  play  cards  when  he  was 
a  boy.  You  are  not  fit  to  come  into  an  honest  man's  house.  It 
was  only  because  I  wished  to  spare  a  lady's  feelings  that  I  refrained 
from  turning  you  out  of  mine.  Good  night,  Egham  !  "  and  with 
great  majesty  Mr.  Philip  returned  to  his  companion  and  the  hansom 
cab  which  was  in  waiting  to  convey  these  two  gentlemen  to 
London. 

I   was  quite   correct   in    my   surmise   that   Philip's   antagonist 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     fill 

would  take  no  further  notice  of  tlie  quarrel  to  Philip  personally. 
Indeed,  he  affected  to  treat  it  as  a  drunken  brawl,  regarding  which 
no  man  of  sense  would  allow  himself  to  be  seriously  disturbed.  A 
(juarrel  between  two  men  of  the  same  family  :— between  Philip  and 
his  own  relative  who  had  only  wished  him  well? — It  was  absurd 
and  impossible.  Wiiat  Mr.  Ringwood  deplored  was  the  obstinate 
ill-temper  and  known  violence  of  Philij),  wliich  were  for  ever  leading 
him  into  these  brawls,  antl  estranging  his  family  from  him.  A  man 
seized  by  the  coat,  insulted,  threatened  with  a  decanter  1  A  man 
of  station  so  treated  by  a  person  whose  own  jjosition  was  mcjst 
questi(jnable,  whose  father  was  a  fugitive,  and  who  liimself  was 
struggling  for  precarious  subsistence  !  The  arrogance  was  too 
great.  With  tlie  best  wishes  for  the  unhappy  young  man,  and  his 
anuable  (but  empty-headed)  little  wife,  it  was  impossible  to  take 
further  notice  of  them.  Let  the  visits  cease.  Let  the  carriage  no 
more  drive  from  Berkeley  Square  to  Milman  Street.  Let  there 
be  no  presents  of  game,  poultry,  legs  of  mutton,  old  clothes,  and 
what  not.  Henceforth,  therefore,  the  Ringwood  carriage  was  un- 
known in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Foundling,  and  the  Ringwood 
footmen  no  more  scented  with  their  powdered  heads  the  Fiiniins' 
little  hall  ceiling.  Sir  John  said  to  the  end  that  he  was  about 
to  pi-ocure  a  comfortable  place  for  Philip,  ^^hen  his  deplorable 
violence  obliged  Sir  John  to  break  oft"  all  relations  with  the  most 
misguided  young  man. 

Nor  was  the  end  of  the  nnschief  here.  We  have  all  read  how 
the  gods  never  appear  alone — the  gods  bringing  good  or  evil 
fortune.  AVheu  two  or  three  little  pieces  of  good  luck  had  befallen 
our  poor  friend,  my  wife  triumphantly  cried  out,  "  I  told  you  so  ! 
Did  I  not  always  say  that  Heaven  would  befriend  that  dear  innocent 
wife  and  children  ;  that  brave,  generous,  imprudent  father  1 "  And 
now  when  the  evil  days  came,  this  monstrous  logician  insisted  that 
pcjverty,  sickness,  dreadful  doubt  and  terror,  hunger  and  want 
almost,  were  all  equally  intended  for  Philip's  advantage,  and  wouhl 
work  for  good  in  the  end.  So  that  rain  was  good,  and  sunsliiue 
was  good  ;  so  that  si(;kness  was  good,  and  health  was  good  :  that 
Philip  ill  was  to  be  as  happy  as  Philip  well,  and  as  tliankful  for 
a  sick  house  and  an  empty  pocket  as  for  a  Avarm  fireside  ami  a 
comfortable  larder.  Mind,  I  ask  no  Christian  jiliilosojiher  to  revile 
at  his  ill  fortunes,  or  to  despair.  I  will  acce])t  a  toothache  (or  any 
evil  of  life)  and  bear  it  witliout  too  much  grundiling.  But  I  cannot 
say  that  to  have  a  tooth  jndled  out  is  a  blessing,  or  fondle  tlie 
hand  which  wrenches  at  my  jaw. 

"  They  can  live  without  their  fine  relations,  and  their  donations 
of  mutton   and  turnips,"  cries  my  wife  witii   a  toss  of  her  head. 


612  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

"  The  way  in  wliich  those  people  patronised  Philip  and  dear 
Charlotte  was  perfectly  intolerable.  Lady  Ringwood  knows  how 
dreadful  the  conduct  of  that  Mr.  Ringwood  is,  and — and  I  have 
no  patience  with  her  !  "  How,  I  repeat,  do  women  know  about 
men '?  How  do  they  telegrapli  to  each  other  tiieir  notices  of  alarm 
and  mistrust  1  and  fly  as  birds  rise  up  with  a  rush  and  a  skurry 
when  danger  apj)ears  to  be  near?  All  this  was  very  well.  But 
Mr.  Tregarvan  heard  some  account  of  the  dispute  between  Philip 
an<l  Mr.  Ringwood,  and  applied  to  Sir  John  for  further  particulars  ; 
and  Sir  John — liberal  man  as  he  was  and  ever  had  been,  and 
priding  himself  little.  Heaven  knew,  on  the  privilege  of  rank,  which 
was  merely  adventitious — was  constrained  to  confess  that  this 
young  man's  conduct  showed  a  great  deal  too  much  laissez  aller. 
He  had  constantly,  at  Sir  John's  own  house,  manifested  an  inde- 
pendence which  had  bordered  on  rudeness ;  he  was  always  notorious 
for  his  quarrels(Mne  disposition,  and  lately  had  so  disgraced  himself 
in  a  scene  with  Sir  John's  eldest  son,  Mi-.  Ringwood — liad  exhibited 
such  brutality,  ingratitude,  and — and  inebriation,  that  Sir  John 
was  free  to  confess  he  had  forbidden  the  gentleman  his  door. 

"  An  insubordinate,  ill-conditioned  fellow,  certainly  !  "  thinks 
Tregarvan.  (And  I  do  not  say,  though  Philip  is  my  friend,  that 
Tregarvan  and  Sir  John  were  altogether  wrong  regarding  their 
protege.)  Twice  Tregarvan  had  invited  him  to  bi-eakfast,  and 
Philip  had  not  appeared.  More  than  once  he  had  contradicted 
Tregarvan  about  the  Revietv.  He  had  said  that  the  Review  was 
not  getting  on,  and  if  you  asked  Philip  his  candid  opinion,  it  would 
not  get  on.  Six  numbers  had  appeared,  and  it  did  not  meet  with 
that  attention  which  the  public  ought  to  pay  to  it.  The  public 
was  careless  as  to  the  designs  of  that  Great  Power,  which  it  was 
Tregarvan's  aim  to  defy  and  confound.  He  took  counsel  with 
himself  He  walked  over  to  the  publisher's,  and  inspected  the 
books ;  antl  the  result  of  that  inspection  was  so  disagreeable,  tliat 
he  went  home  straightway  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Philip  Firniin, 
Esq.,  New  Milinan  Street,  Gruilford  Street,  which  that  poor  fellow 
brought  to  his  usual  atlvisers. 

That  letter  contained  a  cheque  for  a  quarter's  salary,  and  bade 
adieu  to  Mr.  Firmin.  The  writer  would  not  recapitulate  the  causes 
of  dissatisfaction  which  he  felt  resjjecting  the  conduct  of  the  Revietv. 
He  was  much  disappointed  in  its  progress,  and  dissatisfied  with  its 
general  management.  He  thought  an  opportunity  was  lost  which 
never  could  be  recovered  for  exposing  the  designs  of  a  Power  which 
menaced  the  liberty  and  tranquillity  of  Europe.  Had  it  been 
directed  with  proper  energy  that  Review  might  have  been  an  cegis 
to  that  threatened  liberty,  a  lamp  to  lighten  the  darkness  of  that 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     61.3 

menaced  freedom.  It  might  have  pointed  the  way  to  the  cultiva- 
tion bonarnm  literarum ;  it  might  have  fostered  rising  talent,  it 
might  have  chastised  the  arrogance  of  so-called  critics ;  it  might 
have  served  the  cause  of  truth.  Tregarvan's  hopes  were  (lisaj)- 
pointed  :  he  would  not  say  by  whose  remissness  or  fault.  He  had 
done  his  utmost  in  the  good  work,  and,  finally,  woulil  thank  Mr. 
Firmin  to  print  oft"  the  articles  already  purchased  ami  paid  for,  and 
to  prepare  a  brief  notice  for  the  next  number,  announcing  the  dis- 
contiiuiance  of  the  Review  ;  and  Tregarvan  showed  my  wife  a  cold 
slKHilder  for  a  considerable  time  afterwards,  nor  were  we  asked  to 
liis  tea-parties,  I  forget  for  how  many  seasons. 

This  to  us  was  no  great  loss  or  subject  of  annoyance :  but  to 
poor  Pliilip  ?  It  was  a  matter  of  life  and  almost  death  to  him. 
He  never  could  save  much  out  of  his  little  pittance.  Here  were 
fifty  pounds  in  his  hand,  it  is  true ;  but  bills,  taxes,  rent,  the 
hundred  little  obligations  of  a  house,  were  due  and  pressing  upon 
him ;  and  in  the  midst  of  his  anxiety,  our  dear  little  Mrs.  Philip 
was  about  to  present  him  with  a  third  ornament  to  his  nursery. 
Poor  little  Tertius  arrived  duly  enough  ;  and,  such  hypocrites  were 
we,  that  the  poor  mother  was  absolutely  thinking  of  calling  the 
child  Tregarvan  Firmin,  as  a  compliment  to  Mr.  Tregarvan,  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  them,  and  Tregarvan  Firmin  would  be  such  a 
pretty  name,  she  thought.  We  imagined  the  Little  Sister  knew 
nothing  uhout  Pliilip's  anxieties.  Of  course  she  attended  Mrs. 
Philip  through  her  troubles,  and  we  vow  that  we  never  said  a  word 
to  her  regarding  Philip's  own.  But  Mrs.  Brandon  went  in  to 
Philip  one  day,  as  he  was  sitting  very  grave  and  sad  with  his  two 
first-born  children,  and  she  took  both  his  hands,  and  said,  "  You 
know,  dear,  I  have  saved  ever  so  much  :  and  I  always  intended  it 
for — you  know  who."  And  here  she  loosened  one  hand  from  him, 
and  felt  in  her  pocket  for  a  purse,  and  put  it  into  Philip's  hand, 
and  wept  on  his  shoulder.  And  Philij)  kissed  her,  and  thanked 
God  for  sending  him  such  a  dear  friend,  and  gave  her  back  her 
purse,  though  indeed  he  luid  but  five  ])ouiids  left  in  his  own  when 
this  benefactress  came  to  him. 

Yes  :  but  there  were  debts  owing  to  him.  There  was  his  wife's 
little  portion  of  fifty  pounds  a  year,  which  had  never  been  paid 
since  the  second  ((uarter  after  their  marriage,  which  had  hapiiencd 
now  more  than  three  years  ago.  As  Philip  had  scarce  a  guinea  in 
the  world,  he  wrote  to  Mrs.  Baynes,  his  wife's  mother,  to  explain 
his  extreme  want,  and  to  remind  her  that  this  money  was  due. 
Mrs.  General  Baynes  was  living  at  Jersey  at  this  time  in  a  choice 
society  of  half-])ay  ladies,  clergymen,  captains,  and  the  like,  among 
whom  I  have  no  doubt  she  moved  as  a  great  ladv.     She  wore  a 


6'14  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

large  medallion  of  the  deceased  General  on  her  neck.  She  wept 
dry  tears  over  that  interesting  cameo  at  frequent  tea-parties.  She 
never  could  forgive  Pliilip  for  taking  away  her  child  from  her,  and 
if  any  one  would  take  away  others  of  her  girls,  she  would  be  equally 
unforgiving.  Endowed  with  that  wonderful  logic  with  which 
women  are  blessed,  I  believe  she  never  admitted,  or  has  been  able 
to  admit  to  her  own  mind,  that  she  did  Philip  or  her  daughter  a 
wrong.  In  the  tea-parties  of  her  acquaintance  she  groaned  over 
the  extravagance  of  her  son-in-law  and  his  brutal  treatment  of  her 
blessed  child.  Many  good  people  agreed  with  her  and  shook  their 
respectable  noddles  when  the  name  of  that  prodigal  Philip  was 
mentioned  over  her  muffins  and  Bohea.  He  was  prayed  for ;  his 
dear  widowed  mother-in-law  was  pitied,  and  blessed  with  all  the 
comfort  reverend  gentlemen  could  supply  on  the  spot.  "  Upon  my 
honour,  Firmin,  Emily  and  I  were  made  to  believe  that  you  were  a 
monster,  sir,"  the  stout  Major  Mac^Whirter  once  said  ;  "and  now  I 
have  heard  your  story,  by  Jove,  I  think  it  is  you,  and  not  Eliza 
Baynes,  who  were  wronged.  She  has  a  deuce  of  a  tongue,  Eliza 
has  :  and  a  temper — poor  Charles  knew  what  that  was  !  "  In  fine, 
when  Philip,  reduced  to  his  last  guinea,  asked  Charlotte's  mother 
to  pay  her  debt  to  her  sick  daughter,  Mrs.  General  B.  sent  Philij)  a 
ten-pound  note,  open,  by  Captain  Swang,  of  the  Indian  army,  who 
happened  to  be  coming  to  England.  And  that,  Philip  says,  of  all 
the  hard  knocks  of  fote,  has  been  the  very  hardest  which  he  has 
had  to  endure. 

But  the  poor  little  wife  knew  nothing  of  this  cruelty,  nor,  indeed, 
of  the  very  poverty  which  was  hemming  round  her  curtain  ;  and  in 
the  midst  of  his  griefs,  Philip  Firmin  was  immensely  consoled  by 
the  tender  fidelity  of  the  friends  whom  God  had  sent  him.  Their 
griefs  were  drawing  to  an  end  now.  Kind  readers  all,  may  your 
sorrows,  may  mine,  leave  us  with  hearts  not  embittered,  and 
humbly  acquiescent  to  the  Great  Will ! 


CHAPTER  XLI 

IN  IVHICH   If'E  REACH   THE  LAST  STAGE  BUT 
ONE  OF   THIS  JOURNEY 

ALTHOUGH  poverty  was  knocking  at  Philip's  liumblc  door, 
little  Charlotte  in  all  her  trouble  never  knew  how  menacing 
^  the  grim  visitor  had  been.  She  did  not  quite  understand 
that  her  husband  in  his  last  necessity  sent  to  her  mother  for  his 
due,  and  that  the  mother  turned  away  and  refused  him.  "Ah," 
thought  poor  Philip,  groaning  in  his  despair,  "  I  wonder  whether 
the  thieves  who  attacked  the  man  in  the  parable  were  robbers  of 
his  own  fannly,  who  knew  that  he  carried  money  with  him  to 
Jerusalem,  and  waylaid  him  on  the  journey  1"  But  again  and 
again  he  has  thanked  God,  with  grateful  heart,  for  the  Samaritans 
whom  he  has  met  on  life's  road,  and  if  he  has  not  forgiven,  it  must 
be  owned  he  has  never  done  any  wrong  to  those  who  robbed  him. 

Charlotte  did  not  know  that  her  husband  was  at  his  last  guinea, 
and  a  prey  to  dreadfid  anxiety  for  her  dear  sake,  for  after  the  birth 
of  her  child  a  fever  came  upon  her;  in  the  delirium  consequent 
upon  which  the  poor  thing  was  ignorant  of  all  that  happened  round 
her.  A  fortnight  with  a  wife  in  extremity,  with  crying  infants, 
with  hunger  menacing  at  the  door,  passed  for  Philip  somehow. 
The  young  man  became  an  old  man  in  this  time.  Indeed,  his  fair 
hair  was  streaked  with  white  at  the  temples  afterwards.  But  it 
must  not  be  imagined  that  he  had  not  friends  during  his  affliction, 
and  he  always  can  gratefully  count  up  the  names  of  many  persons 
to  whom  he  might  have  applied  had  he  been  in  need.  He  did  not 
look  or  ask  for  these  succours  from  his  relatives.  Aunt  and  Uncle 
Twysden  shrieked  and  cried  out  at  his  extravagance,  imi:)rudence, 
and  folly.  Sir  John  Bingwood  said  he  must  really  wash  liis  hands 
of  a  young  man  who  menaced  the  life  of  his  own  son.  Grenville 
Woolcomb,  with  many  oaths,  in  which  l)rother-in-law  Ringwood 
joined  chorus,  cursed  Philip,  and  said  he  didn't  care,  and  the 
beggar  oiight  to  be  hung,  and  his  father  ought  to  be  hung.  But  I 
think  I  know  half-a-dozen  good  men  and  true  who  told  a  different 
tale,  and  who  were  ready  with  their  sympathy  and  succour.  Did 
not  Mrs.  Flanagan,  the  Irish  laundress,  in  a  voice  broken  by  sobs 


6l6  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  gin,  offer  to  go  and  chare  at  Philip's  house  for  nothing,  and 
nurse  the  dear  children  1  Did  not  Goodenough  say,  "  If  you  are 
in  need,  my  dear  fellow,  of  course  you  know  where  to  come ; "  and 
did  he  not  actually  give  two  prescriptions,  one  for  poor  Charlotte, 
and  one  for  fifty  pounds  to  be  taken  immediately,  which  he  handed 
to  the  nurse  by  mistake  ?  You  may  be  sure  she  did  not  appropriate 
the  money,  for  of  course  you  know  that  the  nurse  was  Mrs.  Brandon. 
Charlotte  has  one  remorse  in  her  life.  She  owns  she  was  jealous  of 
the  Little  Sister.  And  now  when  that  gentle  life  is  over,  when 
Philip's  poverty  trials  are  ended,  when  the  children  go  sometimes 
and  look  wistfully  at  the  grave  of  their  dear  Caroline,  friend 
Charlotte  leans  her  head  against  her  husband's  shoulder,  and  owns 
humbly  how  good,  how  brave,  how  generous  a  friend  Heaven  sent 
them  in  that  humble  defender. 

Have  you  ever  felt  the  pinch  of  poverty  1  In  many  cases  it  is 
like  the  dentist's  chair,  more  dreadful  in  the  contemplation  than  in 
the  actual  suffering.  Philip  says  he  never  was  fairly  beaten  but  on 
that  day  when,  in  reply  to  his  solicitation  to  have  his  due,  Mrs. 
Baynes's  friend.  Captain  Swang,  brouglit  him  the  open  ten-pound 
note.  It  was  not  much  of  a  blow :  the  hand  which  dealt  it  made 
the  hurt  so  keen.  "  I  remember,"  says  he,  "  bursting  out  crying 
at  school,  because  a  big  boy  hit  me  a  slight  tap,  and  other  boys 
said,  '  Oh,  you  coward  ! '  It  was  that  I  knew  the  boy  at  home, 
and  my  parents  had  been  kind  to  him.  It  seemed  to  me  a  wrong 
that  Bumps  should  strike  me,"  said  Philip ;  and  he  looked,  while 
telling  the  story,  as  if  he  could  cry  about  this  injury  now.  I  hope 
he  has  revenged  himself  by  presenting  coals  of  fire  to  his  wife's 
relations.  But  to  this  day,  when  he  is  enjoying  good  health  and 
competence,  it  is  not  safe  to  mention  mothers-in-law  in  his  presence. 
He  fumes,  shouts,  and  rages  against  them,  as  if  all  were  like  his ; 
and  his,  I  have  been  told,  is  a  lady  perfectly  well  satisfied  with 

herself  and  her  conduct  in  this  world ;  and  as  for  the  next but 

our  story  does  not  dare  to  point  so  far.  It  only  interests  itself 
about  a  little  clique  of  people  here  below — their  griefs,  their  trials, 
their  weaknesses,  their  kindly  hearts. 

People  there  are  in  our  history  who  do  not  seem  to  me  to 
have  kindly  hearts  at  all ;  and  yet  perhaps,  if  a  biography  could 
he  written  from  their  point  of  view,  some  other  novelist  might  show 
how  Philip  and  his  biographer  were  a  pair  of  selfish  worldlings  un- 
worthy of  credit :  how  Uncle  and  Aunt  Twysden  were  most  exem- 
plary people,  and  so  forth.  Have  I  not  told  you  how  many  people 
at  New  York  shook  their  heads  when  Philip's  name  was  mentioned, 
and  intimated  a  strong  opinion  that  he  used  his  father  very  ill  1 
When  he  fell  wounded  and  bleeding,  patron  Tregarvan  dropped  him 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      6l7 

off  his  horse,  and  Cousin  Ringwood  did  not  look  behind  to  see  how 
he  fared.  But  these,  again,  may  have  had  their  opinion  regarding 
our  friend,  who  may  have  been  misrepresented  to  tliem- 1  pro- 
test as  I  look  back  at  the  past  portions  of  this  history,  I  begin  to 
have  qualms,  and  ask  myself  whether  the  folks  of  whom  we  have 
been  prattling  have  had  justice  done  to  them :  wliether  Agnes 
Twysden  is  not  a  sutlering  martyr  justly  offended  by  Philip's 
turbulent  behaviour,  and  whether  Philip  deserves  any  particular 
attention  or  kindness  at  all.  He  is  not  transcendently  clever  ;  lie 
is  not  gloriously  beautiful.  He  is  not  about  to  illuminate  the  dark- 
ness in  which  the  people  grovel,  with  the  flashing  emanations  of  his 
truth.  He  sometimes  owes  money,  which  he  cannot  pay.  He 
slips,  stumbles,  blunders,  brags.  Ah !  he  sins  and  repents — pray 
Heaven — of  faults,  of  vanities,  of  pride,  of  a  thousand  shortcomings  ! 
This  I  say — Ego — as  my  friend's  biographer.  Perhaps  I  do  not 
understand  the  other  characters  round  about  him  so  well,  and  have 
overlooked  a  number  of  their  merits,  and  caricatured  and  exaggerated 
their  little  defects. 

Among  the  Samaritans  who  came  to  Pliilip's  help  in  these  his 
straits,  he  loves  to  remember  the  name  of  J.  J.,  the  jjainter,  whom 
he  found  sitting  witli  the  children  one  day  making  drawings  for 
them,  whicii  the  good  painter  never  tired  to  sketch. 

Now,  if  those  children  would  but  have  kept  Ridley's  sketches, 
and  waited  for  a  good  season  at  Christie's,  I  have  no  doubt  they 
might  have  got  scores  of  pounds  for  the  drawings ;  but  then,  you 
see,  they  chose  to  improve  the  drawings  with  their  own  hands. 
They  painted  the  soldiers  yellow,  the  horses  blue,  and  so  fortli. 
On  the  horses  they  put  soldiers  of  their  own  (construction.  Ridley's 
landscapes  were  enriched  with  rejn-esentations  of  "omnilmses,"  wliich 
the  children  saw  and  a<lmired  in  the  neighbouring  New  Road.  I 
daresay,  as  the  fever  left  lier,  and  as  she  came  to  see  things  as  tliey 
were,  Charlotte's  eyes  dwelt  fondly  on  the  pictures  of  the  omnibuses 
inserted  in  Mr.  Ridley's  sketches,  and  she  \n\i  some  aside,  and 
showed  them  to  her  friends,  and  said,  "  Doesn't  our  darling  show 
extraordinary  talent  for  drawing?  Mr.  Ridley  says  he  does.  He 
did  a  great  part  of  this  etching.'' 

But,  besides  the  drawings,  what  do  yuu  tliink  Master  Ridley 
offereil  to  draw  for  his  friends'?  Besides  the  prescrii)tions  of 
medicine,  what  drafts  did  Dr.  Goodenough  prescribe  ?  When 
Nurse  Brandon  came  to  Mrs.  Philip  in  her  anxious  time,  we  know 
what  sort  of  i)ayni('nt  she  proposed  for  her  services.  Who  says  the 
World  is  all  cold  {  There  is  the  sun  and  the  shadows.  And  tiie 
Heaven  which  ordains  poverty  ami  sickness,  sends  pity,  and  love, 
and  succour. 


618  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

During  Charlotte's  fever  and  illness,  the  Little  Sister  had  left 
her  but  for  one  day,  when  her  patient  was  quiet,  and  pronounced  to 
be  mending.  It  appears  that  Mrs.  Charlotte  was  very  ill  indeed 
on  this  occasion ;  so  ill  that  Dr.  Goodenough  thought  she  might 
have  given  us  all  the  sli]) :  so  ill  that,  but  for  Brandon,  she  would, 
in  all  ])robability,  have  escaped  out  of  this  troublous  world,  and  left 
Philip  and  her  orphaned  little  ones.  Charlotte  mended  then  :  could 
take  food,  and  liked  it,  and  was  specially  pleased  with  some  chickens 
which  her  nurse  informed  her  were  "from  the  country."  "From 
Sir  John  Ringwood,  no  doubt?"  said  Mrs.  Firmin,  remembering 
the  presents  sent  from  Berkeley  Square,  and  the  nmtton  and  the 
turnips. 

"  Well,  eat  and  be  thankful ! "  says  the  Little  Sister,  who  was 
as  gay  as  a  little  sister  could  be,  and  who  had  prepared  a  beautiful 
bread  sauce  for  the  fowl ;  and  who  had  tossed  the  baby,  and  who 
showed  it  to  its  admiring  brother  and  sister  ever  so  many  times ; 
and  who  saw  that  Mr.  Philip  had  l\is  dinner  comfortable ;  and  who 
never  took  so  much  as  a  drop  of  porter — at  home  a  little  glass 
sometimes  was  comfortable,  but  on  duty,  never,  never !  No,  not  if 
Dr.  Goodenough  ordered  it !  she  vowed.  And  the  Doctor  wished 
he  could  say  as  much,  or  believe  as  much,  of  all  his  nurses. 

Milman  Street  is  such  a  quiet  little  street  that  our  friends  had 
not  carpeted  it  in  the  usual  way ;  and  three  days  after  her  temporary 
absence,  as  Nurse  Brandon  sits  by  her  patient's  bed,  powdering  the 
back  of  a  small  pink  infant  that  makes  believe  to  swim  upon  her 
apron,  a  rattle  of  wheels  is  heard  in  the  quiet  street — of  four  wheels, 
of  one  horse,  of  a  jingling  carriage,  which  stops  before  Philip's  door. 
"  It's  the  trap,"  says  Nurse  Brandon,  delighted.  "  It  must  be 
those  kind  Ringwctods,"  says  Mrs.  Philip.  "But  stop,  Brandon. 
Did  not  they,  did  not  we  1 — oh,  how  kind  of  them  ! "  She  was 
trying  to  recall  the  past.  Past  and  present  for  days  had  been 
strangely  mingled  in  her  fevered  brain.  "  Hush,  my  dear  !  you 
are  to  be  kep'  quite  still,"  says  tlie  nurse — and  then  proceeded  to 
finish  the  polishing  and  powdering  of  the  pink  frog  on  her  lap. 

The  bedroom  window  was  o])en  towards  the  sunny  street :  but 
Mrs.  Pliilip  did  not  hear  a  female  voice  say,  "  'Old  the  'orse's  'ead, 
Jim,"  or  she  might  have  been  agitated.  The  horse's  head  was  held, 
and  a  gentleman  and  a  lady  with  a  great  basket  containing  peas, 
butter,  greens,  flowers,  and  other  rural  produce,  descended  fi-om  the 
vehicle,  and  rang  at  the  bell. 

Philip  opened  it ;  with  his  little  ones,  as  usual,  trotting  at 
his  knees. 

"  Why,  my  darlings,  how  you  air  grown  ! "  cries  the  lady. 

"  Bygones    be    bygones.      Give  us  your   'and,    Firmin :    here's 


THAXKS(;iVING. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     619 

mine.  My  missus  has  brought  some  country  butter  and  things 
for  your  dear  good  lady.  And  we  hoped  you  liked  the  chickens. 
And  God  bless  you,  old  fellow,  how  are  you  t "  The  tears  were 
rolling  down  the  good  man's  cheeks  as  he  spoke.  And  Mrs.  Mug- 
ford  was  likewise  exceedingly  hot,  and  very  much  affected.  And 
the  children  said  to  her,  "  Mamma  is  better  now  :  and  we  have  a 
little  brother,  and  he  is  crying  now  upstairs." 

"  Bless  you,  my  darlings  !  "  Mrs.  Mugford  was  off  by  tliis  time. 
Siie  put  down  her  peace-offering  of  carrots,  chickens,  bacon,  butter. 
She  cried  plentifully.  "  It  was  Brandon  came  and  told  us,"  she 
said;  "and  when  she  told  us  how  all  your  great  peojtle  had  flung 
you  over,  and  you'd  been  quarrelling  again,  you  naughty  fellar,  I 
says  to  Mugford,  'Let's  go  and  see  after  that  dear  thing,  Mugford,' 
I  says.  And  liere  we  are.  And  year's  two  nice  cakes  for  your 
children"  (after  a  forage  in  the  cornucopia),  "and,  lor',  how  they 
are  grown  ! " 

A  little  nurse  from  the  upstairs  regions  here  makes  her  appear- 
ance, holding  a  bundle  of  cashmere  shawls,  part  of  which  is  removed, 
and  discloses  a  being  pronounced  to  be  ravishingly  beautiful,  and 
"jest  like  Mrs.  Mugford's  Emaly  !  " 

"I  say,"  says  Mugford,  "the  old  shop's  still  oi)en  to  you. 
T'other  chap  wouldn't  do  at  all.  He  was  wild  Avhen  he  gut  tlie 
drink  on  board.  Hirish.  Pitched  into  Bickerton,  and  black 'd  'is 
eye.  It  was  Bickerton  who  told  you  lies  about  that  poor  lady. 
Don't  see  'im  no  more  now.  Borrowed  some  money  of  me  ;  haven't 
seen  him  since.  We  weiv  Ijoth  wrong,  and  we  imist  make  it  up — 
the  missus  says  we  must." 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Phili]),  with  a  grasp  of  the  honest  fellow's  hand. 
And  next  Sunday  he  and  a  trim  little  sister,  and  two  children, 
went  to  an  old  church  in  Queen  Square,  Bloomsbury,  which  was 
fashionable  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Anne,  when  Richard  Steele  kept 
house,  and  did  not  pay  rent,  hard  by.  And  when  the  clergyman 
in  the  Thanksgiving  particularised  those  who  desired  now  to  "  ofler 
up  their  praises  and  thanksgiving  for  late  mercies  vouchsafed  to 
them,"  once  more  Philip  Firmin  said  "  Amen,"  on  his  knees,  and 
with  all  his  heart. 


CHAPTER  XLII 


THE   REALMS    OE   BLISS 


YOU  know — all  good  boys  and  girls  at  Christmas  know — that, 
before  the  last  scene  of  the  pantomime,  when  the  Good  Fairy 
ascends  in  a  blaze  of  glory,  and  Harlequin  and  Columbine 
take  hands,  having  danced  tlirough  all  their  tricks  and  troubles  and 
tumbles,  there  is  a  dark,  brief,  seemingly  meaningless,  penultimate 
scene,  in  which  the  performers  appear  to  grope  about  perplexed, 
whilst  tlie  music  of  bassoons  and  trombones,  and  tlie  like,  groans 
tragically.  As  the  actors,  witli  gestures  of  dismay  and  outstretched 
arms,  move  hither  and  thither,  the  wary  frequenter  of  pantomimes 
sees  the  illuminators  of  the  Abode  of  Bliss  and  Hall  of  Prismatic 
Splendour  nimbly  nuiving  behind  the  canvas,  and  streaking  the  dark- 
ness with  twinkling  fires — fires  which  shall  blaze  out  presently  in 
a  thousand  colours  round  the  Good  Fairy  in  the  Revolving  Temple 
of  Blinding  Bliss.  Be  happy.  Harlequin  !  Love  and  be  happy  and 
dance,  pretty  Columbine  !  Children,  mamma  bids  you  put  your 
shawls  on.  And  Jack  and  Mary  (who  are  young  and  love  panto- 
mimes) look  lingeringly  still  over  the  ledge  of  the  box,  whilst  the 
fairy  temple  yet  revolves,  whilst  the  fireworks  play,  and  ere  the 
Great  Dark  Curtain  descends. 

My  dear  young  people,  who  have  sat  kindly  through  the 
scenes  during  which  our  entertainment  has  lasted,  be  it  known  to 
you  that  last  chapter  was  the  dark  scene.  Look  to  your  cloaks, 
and  tie  up  your  little  throats,  for  I  tell  you  the  great  baize  will 
soon  fall  down.  Have  I  had  any  secrets  from  you  all  through  the 
piece  1  I  tell  you  the  house  will  be  empty  and  you  will  be  in  the 
cold  air.  When  tlie  boxes  have  got  their  nightgowns  on,  and  you 
are  all  gone,  and  I  have  turned  off  the  gas,  and  am  in  the  empty 
theatre  alone  in  the  darkn?ss,  I  jiromise  you  I  shall  not  be  merry. 
Never  mind !  We  can  make  jokes  though  we  are  ever  so  sad. 
We  can  jump  over  head  and  heels,  though  I  declare  the  pit  is  half 
emptied  already,  and  the  last  orange-woman  has  slunk  away.  Encore 
une  pirouette.  Columbine  !  Saute,  Arlequin,  mon  ami  !  Though 
there  are  but  five  l)ars  more  of  the  music,  my  good  people,  we  must 
jump  over  them  briskly,  ami  then  go  home  to  supper  and  bed. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      621 

Philip  Finniii,  then,  was  immensely  moved  by  this  magnanimity 
and  kindness  on  tlie  part  of  his  old  employer,  and  has  always  con- 
sidered Mugford's  arrival  and  friendliness  as  a  special  interposition 
in  his  favour.  He  owes  it  all  to  Brandon,  he  says.  It  was  she 
wlio  bethought  herself  of  his  condition,  represented  it  to  Mugford, 
and  reconciled  him  to  his  enemy.  Others  were  most  ready  with 
their  money.  It  was  Brandon  who  brought  him  work  rather  than 
alms,  an<l  enabled  him  to  face  fortune  cheerfully.  His  interval  of 
poverty  was  so  short,  that  he  actually  had  not  occasion  to  borrow.  A 
week  more,  and  he  could  not  have  held  out,  and  poor  Brandon's  little 
marriage  present  must  have  gone  to  the  cenotaph  of  sovereigns — the 
dear  Little  Sister's  gift  which  Philip's  family  cherish  to  this  hour. 

So  Philip,  with  a  humbled  heart  and  demeanour,  clambered  up 
on  his  sub-editorial  stool  once  more  at  the  Fall  Mall  Gazette,  and 
again  brandished  the  paste-pot  and  the  scissors.  I  forget  whether 
Bickerton  still  remained  in  command  at  the  Pall  Mall  (lazette,  or 
was  more  kind  to  Philip  than  before,  or  was  afraid  of  him,  having 
heard  of  his  exploits  as  a  lire-eater  ;  but  certain  it  is,  the  two  did 
not  come  to  a  quarrel,  giving  each  other  a  wide  berth,  as  the  saying 
is,  and  each  doing  his  own  duty.  Good-bye,  Monsieur  Bickerton. 
Ex(^c])t,  mayhap,  in  the  final  group,  round  the  Fairy  Chariot 
(when,  I  promise  you,  there  Avill  be  such  a  blaze  of  glory  that  he 
will  be  invisible),  we  shall  never  see  the  little  spiteful  envious 
creature  more.  Let  him  pop  down  his  ai)pointed  trap-door ;  and, 
quick  fiddles  !  let  the  brisk  music  jig  on. 

Owing  to  the  coolness  which  had  arisen  between  Philip  and  his 
father  on  account  of  their  ditterent  views  regarding  the  use  to  be 
made  of  Philiit's  signature,  the  old  gentleman  drew  no  further  bills 
in  his  son's  name,  and  our  friend  was  sj)ared  from  the  unpleasant 
persecution.  Mr.  Hunt  loved  Dr.  Firmin  so  ardently  that  he  could 
not  bear  to  be  separated  from  the  Doctor  long.  AVithout  the  Doctor, 
London  was  a  dreary  wilderness  to  Hunt.  Unfortunate  remem- 
brances of  past  pecuniary  transactions  hamited  him  here.  AVe  were 
all  of  us  glad  when  he  finally  retired  from  the  Covcnt  Garden  taverns 
and  betook  himself  to  the  Bowery  once  more. 

And  now  friend  Philip  was  at  Avork  again,  hardly  earning  a 
scanty  meal  for  self,  wife,  servant,  children.  It  was  indeed  a  meagre 
meal,  and  a  small  wage.  Charlotte's  illness,  and  other  mishaps, 
had  swept  away  poor  Philip's  little  savings.  It  was  determined 
that  we  would  let  the  elegantly  furnished  apartments  on  tlie  first 
floor.  You  might  have  fancied  the  proud  Mr.  Firmin  rather  repug- 
nant to  such  a  measure.  And  so  he  was  on  the  score  of  convenience  : 
but  of  dignity,  not  a  whit.  To  this  day,  if  necessity  called,  Philip 
would  turn  a  mangle  with  perfect  gravity.     I  believe  the  thought 


622  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

of  Mrs.  General  Baynes's  horror  at  the  idea  of  her  son-in-law  letting 
lodgings  greatly  soothed  and  comforted  Philip.  The  lodgings  were 
absolutely  taken  by  our  country  acquaintance,  Miss  Pyhus,  who  was 
coming  up  for  tlie  May  meetings,  and  whom  we  persuaded  (Heaven 
be  good  to  us)  that  she  would  find  a  most  desirable  quiet  residence 
in  the  house  of  a  man  witli  three  squalling  cliildren.  Miss  P.  came, 
tlien,  with  my  wife,  to  look  at  the  apartments  ;  and  we  allured  her 
by  describing  to  her  tlie  delightful  musical  services  at  the  Foundling 
hard  by  ;  and  she  was  very  much  pleased  with  Mrs.  Philip,  and 
did  not  even  wince  at  the  elder  children,  whose  pretty  faces  won 
the  kind  old  lady's  heart ;  and  I  am  ashamed  to  say  we  were  mum 
about  the  baby :  and  Pybus  was  going  to  close  for  the  lodgings, 
when  Philip  burst  out  of  his  little  room,  without  his  coat,  I  believe, 
and  objurgated  a  little  printer's  boy,  who  was  sitting  in  the  hall, 
waiting  for  some  "  copy  "  regarding  which  he  had  made  a  blunder  ; 
and  Philij)  used  such  violent  language  towards  the  little  lazy  boy, 
that  Pybus  said  "  she  never  could  think  of  taking  apartments  in 
that  house,"  and  hurried  thence  in  a  panic.  When  Brandon  heard 
of  this  project  of  letting  lodgings,  she  was  in  a  fury.  She  might  let 
lodgin's,  but  it  wasn't  for  Pliilip  to  do  so.  "  Let  lodgin's,  indeed  ! 
Buy  a  broom,  and  sweep  a  crossin' !  "  Brandon  always  thought 
Charlotte  a  poor-spirited  creature,  and  the  way  she  scolded  Mrs. 
Firmin  about  this  transaction  was  not  a  little  amusing.  Charlotte 
was  not,  angry.  She  liked  the  scheme  as  little  as  Brandon.  No 
other  person  ever  asked  for  lodgings  in  Charlotte's  house.  May 
and  its  meetings  came  to  an  end.  The  old  ladies  went  back  to 
their  country  towns.  The  missionaries  returned  to  Caffraria.  (Ah  ! 
where  are  the  pleasant-looking  Quakeresses  of  our  youth,  with  their 
comely  faces,  and  pretty  dove-coloured  robes  ]  They  say  the  goodly 
sect  is  dwindling-  dwindling.)  The  Quakeresses  went  out  of  town  : 
then  tlie  fashionable  world  began  to  move :  the  Parliament  went 
out  of  town.  In  a  word,  everybody  who  could,  made  away  for  a 
holiday,  whilst  poor  Philip  remained  at  his  work,  snipping  and 
pasting  his  paragraphs,  and  doing  his  humble  drudgery. 

A  sojourn  on  the  sea-shore  was  prescribed  by  Dr.  Goodenough, 
as  absolutely  necessary  for  Charlotte  and  her  young  ones,  and  when 
Philip  pleaded  certain  cogent  reasons  why  the  family  could  not  take 
the  medicine  prescribed  by  the  Doctor,  that  eccentric  physician  had 
recourse  to  the  same  pocket-book  which  we  have  known  him  to 
produce  on  a  former  occasion ;  and  took  from  it,  for  what  I  know, 
some  of  the  very  same  notes  which  he  had  formerly  given  to  the 
Little  Sister.  "  I  suppose  you  may  as  well  have  them  as  that 
rascal  Hunt,"  said  the  Doctor,  scowling  very  fiercely.  "  Don't  tell 
me.     Stuff  and  nonsense.     Pooh  !     Pay  me  when  you  are  a  rich 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     623 

man  ! "  And  tliis  Samaritan  had  jumped  into  his  carriage,  and  was 
gone,  before  Philip  or  Mrs.  Philip  could  say  a  word  of  thanks. 
Look  at  him  as  he  is  going  off.  See  the  green  brougham  drive 
away,  and  turn  westward,  and  mark  it  well.  A  shoe  go  after  thee, 
John  Goodenough ;  we  shall  see  thee  no  more  in  this  story.  You 
are  not  in  the  secret,  good  reader :  but  I,  who  have  been  living 
with  certain  people  for  many  months  past,  and  have  a  hearty  liking 
for  some  of  them,  grow  very  soft  when  the  hour  for  shaking  hands 
comes,  to  think  we  are  to  meet  no  more.  Go  to  !  when  this  tale 
began,  and  for  some  months  after,  a  pair  of  kind  old  eyes  used  to 
read  these  pages,  which  are  now  closed  in  the  sleep  appointed  for 
all  of  us.  And  so  page  is  turned  after  page,  and  behold  Finis  and 
the  volume's  end. 

So  Philip  and  his  young  folks  came  down  to  Periwinkle  Bay, 
where  we  were  staying,  and  the  girls  in  the  two  fomilies  nursed  the 
baby,  and  the  child  and  mother  got  health  and  comfort  fnmi  the 
fresh  air,  and  Mr.  Mugford — who  believes  himself  to  be  the  finest 
sub-editor  in  the  world  :  and  I  can  tell  you  there  is  a  great  art  in 
sub-editing  a  ])aper— Mr.  Mugford,  I  say,  took  Philip's  scissors  and 
paste-pot,  whilst  the  latter  enjoyed  his  holiday.  And  J.  J.  Ridley, 
R.A.,  came  and  joined  us  presently,  and  we  had  many  sketching 
parties,  and  my  drawings  of  the  various  points  about  the  bay,  viz.. 
Lobster  Head,  tlie  Mollusc  Rocks,  &c.  &c.,  are  considered  to  be 
very  spirited,  though  my  little  boy  (who  certainly  has  not  his 
father's  taste  for  art)  mistook  for  the  rock  a  really  capital  portrait 
of  Philip,  in  a  grey  hat  and  paletot,  s])rawling  on  the  sand. 

Some  twelve  miles  inland  from  the  bay  is  the  little  town  of 
Whipham  Market,  and  Whipham  skirts  the  park  palings  of  that 
castle  where  Lord  Ringwood  had  lived,  and  where  Philip's  mother 
was  born  and  bred.  There  is  a  statue  of  the  late  lord  in  Whij)ham 
market-place.  Could  he  have  had  his  will,  the  borough  would  liave 
continued  to  return  two  Members  to  Parliament,  as  in  the  good  old 
times  before  us.  In  that  ancient  and  grass-grown  little  place, 
where  your  footsteps  echo  as  you  pass  through  the  street,  where 
you  hear  distinctly  the  creaking  of  the  sign  of  the  "  Ringwood 
Arms  "  hotel  and  posting-house,  and  the  opposition  creaking  of  the 
"  Ram  Inn  "  over  the  way — where  the  half-pay  cai)tain,  the  curate, 
and  the  medical  man  stand  before  the  fly-blf)wn  window-blind  of 
the  "  Ringwood  Institute  "  and  survey  the  strangers — there  is  still 
a  respect  felt  for  tlie  memory  of  the  great  lord  who  dwelt  behind 
the  oaks  in  yonder  hall.  He  had  his  faults.  His  Lordship's  life 
was  not  that  of  an  anchorite.  The  company  his  Lordship  kept, 
especially  in  his  latter  days,  was  not  of  that  select  description 
which  a  nobleman  of  his  Lordship's  rank  might  command.      But  he 


624  THE    ADVENTURES    OF   PHILIP 

was  a  good  friend  to  Wliipliam.  He  was  a  good  landlord  to  a  good 
tenant.  If  he  had  his  will,  Whipham  would  have  kept  its  own. 
His  Lordship  paid  half  the  expense  after  the  burning  of  the  town- 
hall.  He  was  an  arbitrary  man,  certainly,  and  he  flogged  Alderman 
Duffle  before  his  own  shop,  but  he  apologised  for  it  most  handsome 
afterwards.  Would  the  gentlemen  like  port  or  sherry  ?  Claret  not 
called  for  in  Whipham  ;  not  at  all ;  and  no  fish,  because  all  the  fish 
at  Periwinkle  Bay  is  bought  up  and  goes  to  London.  Such  were  the 
remarks  made  by  the  landlord  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms  "  to  three 
cavaliers  who  entered  that  hostelry.  And  you  may  be  sure  he  told 
us  about  Lord  Ringwood's  death  in  the  postchaise  as  he  came  from 
Turreys  Regum  ;  and  how  his  Lordship  went  through  them  gates 
(pointing  to  a  pair  of  gates  and  lodges  which  skirt  the  town),  and  was 
drove  up  to  the  castle  and  laid  in  state ;  and  his  Lordship  never 
would  take  the  railway,  never ;  and  he  always  travelled  like  a  noble- 
man, and  when  he  came  to  a  hotel  and  changed  horses,  he  always 
called  for  a  bottle  of  wine,  and  only  took  a  glass,  and  sometimes  not 
even  that.  And  the  present  Sir  John  has  kept  no  company  here  as 
yet ;  and  they  say  he  is  close  of  his  money,  they  say  he  is.  And 
this  is  certain,  Whipham  haven't  seen  much  of  it,  Whipham  haven't. 

We  went  into  the  inn-yard,  which  may  have  been  once  a 
stirring  place,  and  then  sauntered  up  to  the  park  gate,  surmounted 
by  the  supporters  and  armorial  bearings  of  the  Ringwoods.  "  I 
wonder  whether  my  poor  mother  came  out  of  that  gate  when  she 
eloped  with  my  fiither  1 "  said  Philip.  "  Poor  thing,  poor  thing  !  " 
The  great  gates  were  shut.  The  westering  sun  cast  shadows  over 
the  sward  where  here  and  there  the  deer  were  browsing,  and  at 
some  nule  distance  lay  the  house,  with  its  towers  and  porticos  and 
vanes  flaming  in  the  sun.  The  smaller  gate  was  open,  and  a  girl 
was  standing  by  the  lodge-door.     Was  the  house  to  be  seen  ? 

"Yes,"  says  a  little  red-cheeked  girl,  with  a  curtsey. 

"  No  ! "  calls  out  a  harsh  voice  from  within,  and  an  old  woman 
comes  out  from  the  lodge  and  looks  at  us  fiercely.  "  Nobody  is 
to  go  to  the  house.     The  family  is  a-coming." 

That  was  provoking.  Philip  would  have  liked  to  behold  the 
great  house  where  his  mother  and  her  ancestors  were  born. 

"  Marry,  good  dame,"  Philip's  companion  said  to  the  old  beldam, 
"  this  goodly  gentleman  hath  a  right  of  entrance  to  yonder  castle, 
which,  I  trow,  ye  wot  not  of.  Heard  ye  never  tell  of  one  Philip 
Ringwood,  slain  at  Busaco's  glorious  fi " 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  and  don't  chaff"  her,  Pen,"  growled  Firmin. 

"  Nay,  an  she  knows  not  Philip  Ringwood's  grandson,"  the 
other  wag  continued,  in  a  softened  tone,  "  this  will  convince  her  of 
our  right  to  enter.     Canst  recognise  th-is  image  of  your  Queen  1 " 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     625 

"Well,  I  suppose  'ee  can  go  up,"  said  the  old  wonian,  at  the 
sight  of  this  talisman.  "  Tliere's  only  two  of  them  staying  there, 
and  they're  out  a-drivin'." 

Philip  was  bent  on  seeing  the  halls  of  his  ancestors.  Grey  and 
huge,  with  towers,  and  vanes,  and  i)orticos,  they  lay  before  us  a 
mile  off,  separated  from  us  by  a  streak  of  glistening  river.  A  great 
chestnut  avenue  led  up  to  the  river,  and  in  the  dappled  grass  the 
deer  were  browsing. 

You  know  the  house  of  course.  There  is  a  picture  of  it  in 
Watts,  bearing  date  1783.  A  gentleman  in  a  cocked  hat  and 
pigtail  is  rowing  a  lady  in  a  boat  on  the  shining  river.  Anotlier 
nobleman  in  a  cocked  hat  is  angling  in  the  glistening  river  from 
the  bridge,  over  which  a  postchaise  is  passing. 

"Yes,  the  place  is  like  enough,"  said  Philip  ;  "  but  I  nnss  the 
postchaise  going  over  the  bridge,  and  the  lady  in  the  punt  with 
the  tall  parasol.  Don't  you  remember  the  print  in  our  house- 
keeper's room  in  Old  Parr  Street?  My  poor  mother  used  to  tell 
me  about  the  house,  and  I  imagined  it  grander  than  the  palace  of 
Aladdin.  It  is  a  very  handsome  house,"  Philip  went  on.  "'It 
extends  two  hundred  and  sixty  feet  by  seventy-five,  and  consists  of 
a  rustic  basement  and  priiicipal  story,  with  an  attic  in  the  centre, 
the  whole  executed  in  stone.  The  grand  front  towards  the  park 
is  adorned  with  a  noble  portico  of  the  Corinthian  order,  and  may 

with  propriety  be  considered  one  of  the  finest  elevations  in  the ' 

I  tell  you  I  am  quoting  out  of  Watts's  '  Seats  of  the  Nobility  and 
Gentry,'  publisiied  by  John  and  Josiah  Boydell,  and  lying  in  our 
drawing-room.  Ah,  dear  me  !  I  painted  the  boat  and  the  lady 
and  gentleman  in  the  drawing-room  copy,  and  my  father  boxed  my 
ears,  and  my  mother  cried  out,  poor  dear  soul  !  And  this  is  the 
river,  is  it  ?  And  over  this  the  postchaise  went  with  the  dub- 
tailed  horses,  and  here  "was  the  pig-tailed  gentleman  fishing.  It 
gives  me  a  queer  sensation,"  says  Philip,  standing  on  the  bridge, 
and  stretching  out  his  big  arms.  "  Yes,  there  are  the  two  people 
in  the  punt  by  the  rushes.  I  can  see  them,  but  you  can't :  and 
I  hope,  sir,  you  will  have  good  sport."  And  here  he  took  off"  his 
hat  to  an  imaginary  gentleman  sup])osed  to  be  angling  from  the 
balustrade  for  ghostly  gudgeon.  We  reached  the  house  presently. 
We  ring  at  the  door  in  the  basement  under  the  portico.  The 
porter  demurs,  and  says  some  of  ihe  family  is  down,  but  they 
are  out,  to  be  sure.  The  same  half-crown  argument  answers  with 
him  which  persuaded  the  keeper  at  the  lodge.  We  go  tlirough  the 
show-rooms  of  the  stately  but  somewhat  faded  and  melancholj^ 
palace.  In  the  cedar  dining-room  there  hangs  the  grim  portrait 
of  the  late  Earl;  and  that  fair-haired  officer  in  redl  that  uuist  be 


626  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

Philip's  grandfather.  And  those  two  shm  girls  embracing,  surely 
those  are  his  mother  and  his  aunt.  Philip  walks  softly  through 
the  vacant  rooms.  He  gives  the  porter  a  gold  piece  ere  he  goes 
out  of  the  great  hall,  forty  feet  cube,  ornamented  with  statues 
brought  from  Rome  by  John  first  Baron,  namely,  Heliogabalus, 
Nero's  mother,  a  priestess  of  Isis,  and  a  river  god;  the  pictures 
over  the  doors  by  Pedimento ;  the  ceiling  by  Leotardi,  &c.  ;  and 
in  a  window  in  tlie  great  hall  there  is  a  table  with  a  visitors' 
book,  in  which  Philip  writes  his  name.  As  we  went  away,  we 
met  a  carriage  which  drove  rapidly  towards  the  house,  and  which 
no  doubt  contained  the  members  of  tlie  Ringwood  family,  regard- 
ing whom  the  porteress  had  spoken.  After  the  family  differences 
previously  related,  we  did  not  care  to  face  these  kinsfolk  of  Philip, 
and  passed  on  quickly  in  twilight  beneath  the  rustling  umbrage  of 
the  chestnuts.  J.  J.  saw  a  hundred  fine  pictorial  effects  as  we 
walked  :  the  palace  reflected  in  the  water ;  the  dappled  deer  under 
the  chequered  shadow  of  the  trees.  It  was,  "  Oh,  what  a  jolly 
bit  of  colour ! "  and,  "  I  say,  look,  how  well  that  old  woman's  red 
cloak  comes  in  !  "  and  so  forth.  Painters  never  seem  tired  of  their 
work.  At  seventy  they  are  students  still,  patient,  docile,  happy. 
May  we  too,  my  good  sir,  live  for  fourscore  years,  and  never  be 
too  old  to  learn  !  The  walk,  the  brisk  accompanying  conversation, 
amid  stately  scenery  around,  brought  us  with  good  appetites  and 
spirits  to  our  inn,  where  we  were  told  that  dinner  would  be  served 
when  the  omnibus  arrived  from  the  railway. 

At  a  short  distance  from  the  "  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street,  is  the  "  Ram  Inn,"  neat  postchaises 
and  farmers'  ordinary ;  a  house,  of  which  the  pretensions  seemed 
less,  though  the  trade  was  somewhat  more  lively.  When  the 
tooting  of  the  horn  announced  the  arrival  of  the  omnibus  from  the 
railway,  I  should  think  a  crowd  of  at  least  fifteen  people  assembled 
at  various  doors  of  the  High  Street  and  Market.  The  half-pay 
captain  and  the  curate  came  out  from  the  "  Ringwood  Athenaeum." 
The  doctor's  apprentice  stood  on  the  step  of  the  surgery  door,  and 
the  surgeon's  lady  looked  out  from  the  first  floor.  We  shared  the 
general  curiosity.  We  and  the  waiter  stood  at  the  door  of  the 
"Ringwood  Arms."  We  were  mortified  to  see  that  of  the  five  persons 
conveyed  by  the  'bus,  one  was  a  tradesman,  who  descended  at  his 
door  (Mr.  Packwood,  the  saddler,  so  the  waiter  informed  us),  three 
travellers  were  discharged  at  the  "  Ram,"  and  only  one  came  to  us. 

"Mostly  bagmen  goes  to  the  'Ram,'"  the  waiter  said,  with 
a  scornful  air;  and  these  bagmen,  and  their  bags,  quitted  the 
omnibus. 

Only  one  passenger  remained  for  the  "  Ringwood  Arms  Hotel," 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     627 

and  he  presently  descended  under  the  porte  cochere ;  and  the 
omnibus — I  own,  with  regret,  it  was  but  a  one-horse  machine — 
drove  rattling  into  the  courtyard,  where  the  bells  of  the  "  Star,"  the 
"  George,"  the  "  Rodney,"  the  "  Dolphin,"  and  so  on,  had  once  been 
wont  to  jingle,  and  the  court  had  echoed  with  the  noise  and  clatter 
of  hoofs  and  ostlers,  and  the  cries  of  "  First  and  second,  turn  out." 

Who  was  the  morry-faced  little  gentleman  in  lilack,  who  got 
out  of  tlie  omnibus,  and  cried,  when  he  saw  us,  "What,  you  here?" 
It  was  Mr.  Bradgate,  that  lawyer  of  Lord  Ringwood's  with  whom 
we  made  a  brief  acquaintance  just  after  his  Lordship's  death. 
"Wliat,  you  hereV  cries  Bradgate,  then,  to  Philip.  "Come  down 
about  this  business,  of  course?  Very  glad  that  you  and — and 
certain  parties  have  made  it  up.     Thought  you  weren't  friends." 

What  business  ?  What  parties  ?  We  had  not  heard  the  news. 
We  had  only  come  over  from  Periwinkle  Bay  by  chance,  in  order 
to  see  the  house. 

"  How  very  singular !  Did  you  meet  the — the  people  who 
were  staying  there  1 " 

We  said  we  had  seen  a  carriage  ]iass,  but  did  not  remark  who 
was  in  it.  What,  however,  was  the  news?  Well.  It  would  be 
known  immediately,  and  would  appear  in  Tuesday's  Gazette.  The 
news  was  that  Sir  John  Ringwood  was  going  to  take  a  peerage, 
and  that  the  seat  for  Whi]iham  WDuld  be  vacant.  And  herewitli 
our  friend  produced  from  his  travelling  bag  a  proclamation,  which 
he  read  to  us,  and  which  was  addressed — 

"  I'o  the  Worthy  and  Independent  Electors  of  the  Borough 
of  Ringwood. 

"London:   Wedne-'dny. 

"  Gentlemen, — A  givacious  Sovereign  having  been  pleased  to 
order  that  the  family  of  Ringwood  should  continue  to  be  re])re,seiited 
in  the  House  of  Peers,  I  take  leave  of  my  friends  and  constituents 
who  liave  given  me  their  kind  confidence  hitherto,  and  promise 
them  that  my  regard  for  them  will  never  cease,  or  my  interest  in 
the  town  and  neighbourhood  where  my  family  have  dwelt  for  many 
centuries.  The  late  lamented  Lord  Ringwood's  brother  died  in  the 
service  of  his  Sovereign  in  Portugal,  following  the  same  flag  luidcr 
which  his  ancestors  for  centuries  have  fought  and  bled.  My  own 
son  serves  the  Crown  in  a  civil  capacity.  It  was  natural  that  one 
of  our  name  and  family  should  continue  the  relations  which  so 
long  have  subsisted  between  us  and  this  loyal,  affectionate,  but 
independent  borough.  ]\Ir.  Ringwood's  onerous  duties  in  the  office 
which   he   holds  are  sufficient  to  occupy  his  time.     A  geutlcman, 


628  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

united   to   our  family  by  the  closest   ties   will   offer  himself  as  a 
candidate  for  your  suffrages " 

"  Why,  who  is  it  ?  He  is  not  going  to  put  in  Uncle  Twysden, 
or  my  sneak  of  a  cousin  1 " 

"  No,"  says  Mr.  Bradgate. 

"Well,  bless  my  soul !  he  can't  mean  me,"  said  Philip.  "Who 
is  the  dark  horse  he  has  in  his  stable  1 " 

Then  Mr.  Bradgate  laughed.  "  Dark  horse  you  may  call  him. 
The  new  Member  is  to  be  Grenville  Woolcomb,  Esq.,  your  West 
India  relative,  and  no  other." 

Those  who  know  the  extreme  energy  of  Mr.  P.  Firmin's  language 
when  he  is  excited,  may  imagine  the  explosion  of  Philippine  wrath 
which  ensued  as  our  friend  heard  this  name.  "  That  miscreant : 
that  skinflint :  that  wealthy  crossing-sweeper  :  that  ignoramus  who 
scarce  could  do  more  than  sign  his  name  !  Oh,  it  was  horrible, 
shameful !  Why,  the  man  is  on  such  ill  terms  with  his  wife  that 
they  say  he  strikes  her.  When  I  see  him  I  feel  inclined  to  choke 
him,  and  murder  him.  That  brute  going  into  Parliament,  and  the 
republican  Sir  John  Ringwood  sending  him  there  !    It's  monstrous  !  " 

"  Family  arrangements.  Sir  John,  or,  I  should  say,  my  Lord 
Ringwood,  is  one  of  the  most  affectionate  of  parents,"  Mr.  Bradgate 
remarked.  "  He  has  a  large  family  by  his  second  marriage,  and 
his  estates  go  to  his  eldest  son.  We  must  not  quarrel  with  Lord 
Ringwood  for  wishing  to  provide  for  his  young  ones.  I  don't  say 
that  he  quite  acts  up  to  the  extreme  Liberal  principles  of  which 
he  was  once  rather  fond  of  boasting.  But  if  you  were  offered  a 
peerage,  what  would  you  do ;  what  would  I  do  ?  If  you  wanted 
money  for  your  young  ones,  and  could  get  it,  would  you  not  take 
it  1  Come,  couie,  don't  let  us  have  too  much  of  this  Spartan  virtue  ! 
If  we  were  tried,  my  good  friend,  we  should  not  be  much  worse  or 
better  than  our  neighbours.  Is  my  fly  coming,  waiter  1 "  We  asked 
Mr.  Bradgate  to  defer  his  departure,  and  to  share  our  dinner.  But 
he  declined,  and  said  he  must  go  up  to  the  great  house,  where 
he  and  his  client  had  plenty  of  business  to  arrange,  and  where 
no  doubt  he  would  stay  for  the  night.  He  bade  the  inn  servants 
put  his  portmanteau  into  his  carriage  when  it  came.  "  The  old 
lord  had  some  famous  port  wine,"  he  said ;  "  I  hope  my  friends 
have  the  key  of  the  cellar." 

The  waiter  was  just  putting  our  meal  on  the  table,  as  we  stood 
in  the  bow- window  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms  "  coffee-room,  engaged 
in  this  colloquy.  Hence  we  could  see  the  street,  and  the  opposition 
inn  of  the  "  Ram,"  where  presently  a  great  placard  was  posted. 
At  least  a   dozen   street-boys,  shopmen,  and   rustics  were  quickly 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     629 

gathered  round  this  manifesto,  and  we  ourselves  went  out  to  examine 
it.  The  "  Ram  "  placard  denounced,  in  terms  of  unmeasured  wrath, 
the  impudent  attempt  from  the  Castle  to  dictate  to  the  free  and 
independent  electors  of  the  borough.  Freemen  were  invited  not  to 
promise  their  votes ;  to  show  themselves  worthy  of  their  name  ; 
to  subnnt  to  no  Castle  dictation.  A  county  gentleman  of  property, 
of  influence,  of  Liberal  principles — No  West  Indian,  no  Castle 
Flunkey,  but  a  Tkue  English  Gentleman,  would  come  forward 
to  rescue  them  from  the  tyranny  under  which  they  laboured.  On 
this  point  the  electors  might  rely  on  the  word  of  A  Briton. 

"  Tliis  was  brought  down  by  the  (tlcrk  from  Bedloe's.  He  ami 
a  newspaper  man  came  down  in  the  train  with  me  ;  a  Mr. " 

As  he  spoke,  there  came  forth  from  the  "  Ram,"  the  newspaper 
man  of  whom  Mr.  Bradgate  spoke — an  old  friend  and  comi-ade  of 
Philip,  that  energetic  man  and  able  reporter,  Phipps  of  tlie  Dail}/ 
Intelligencer,  who  recognised  Philip,  and  cordially  greeting  him, 
asked  what  he  did  down  here,  and  supposed  he  had  come  to 
support  his  family. 

Philip  explained  that  we  were  strangers,  had  come  from  a 
neighbouring  watering-place  to  see  the  home  of  Philijj's  ancestors, 
and  were  not  even  aware,  until  then,  that  an  electioneering  contest 
was  pending  in  the  place,  or  that  Sir  John  Ringwood  was  about  to 
be  promoted  to  the  peerage.  Meanwhile,  Mr.  Biadgate's  fly  had 
driven  out  of  the  hotel  yard  of  the  "  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  the 
lawyer,  running  to  the  house  for  a  bag  of  pajjcrs,  jumped  into  the 
carriage  and  called  to  the  coachman  to  drive  to  the  Castle. 

"  Bon  a}i})etit  !  "  says  he,  in  a  confident  tone,  and  he  was  gone. 

"  Would  Phipps  dine  with  us  ? "  Phipps  whispered,  "  I  am  on 
the  other  side,  and  the  '  Ram  '  is  our  house." 

We,  who  were  on  no  side,  entered  into  the  "  Ringwood  Arms," 
and  sat  down  to  our  meal — to  the  mutton  and  the  catsup,  cauli- 
flower and  potatoes,  the  copi)er-edged  side-dishes,  and  the  watery 
melted-butter,  with  whi(;h  strangers  an;  regaled  in  inns  in  declining 
towns.  The  town  badauds,  who  had  read  the  ])lacard  at  the 
"  Ram,"  now  came  to  i)eruse  the  proclamation  in  our  window.  I 
daresay  thirty  pairs  of  clinking  boots  stojiped  liefore  the  one  window 
and  the  otlier,  the  while  we  ate  tough  mutton  :ind  drank  fiery 
slierry.  And  J.  J.,  leaving  his  dinner,  sketclic(l  some  of  the  figures 
of  the  townsfolk  staring  at  the  manifesto,  with  the  old-fashioned 
"  Ram  Inn  "  for  a  background — a  pictiu-esciue  gable  enough. 

Our  meal  was  just  over,  when,  somewhat  to  our  sur])rise,  our 
friend  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer  returned  to  the  "  Ringwood  Arms." 
He  wore  a  disturbed  countenance.  He  asked  what  he  could  have 
for  dinner  ?     Mutton  neither  hot  nor  cold.     Hum  !     That  must  do. 


630  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

So  lie  had  not  been  invited  to  dine  at  the  Park  1  We  rallied  him 
with  much  facetioiisness  on  this  disappointment. 

Little  Bradgate's  eyes  started  with  wrath.  "  What  a  churl  the 
little  black  fellow  is ! "  he  cried.  "  I  took  him  his  jiapers.  I 
talked  with  him  till  dinner  was  laid  in  the  very  room  where  we 
were.  French  beans  and  neck  of  venison — I  saw  the  housekeeper 
and  his  man  bring  them  in  !  And  Mr.  Woolcomb  did  not  so  mu(;h 
as  ask  me  to  sit  down  to  dinner — but  told  me  to  come  again  at 
nine  o'clock  !  Confound  this  mutton — it's  neither  hot  nor  cold  ! 
The  little  skinflint  !  "  The  glasses  of  fiery  sherry  which  Bradgate 
now  swallowed  served  rather  to  choke  than  appease  the  lawyer. 
We  laughed,  and  this  jocularity  angered  him  more.  "  Oh,"  said 
he,  "  I  am  not  the  only  person  Woolcomb  was  rude  to.  He  was  in 
a  dreadful  ill  temper.  He  abused  his  wife :  and  when  he  read  some- 
body's name  in  the  strangers'  book,  I  promise  you,  Firmin,  he  abused 
you.  I  had  a  mind  to  say  to  him,  '  Sir,  Mr.  Firmin  is  dining  at 
the  "  Ringwood  Arms,"  and  I  will  tell  him  what  you  say  of  him.' 
What  india-rubber  mutton  is  this  !  What  villainous  sherry  !  Go 
back  to  him  at  nine  o'clock,  indeed !     Be  hanged  to  his  impu<lence ! " 

"You  must  not  abuse  Woolcomb  before  Firmin,"  said  one  of 
our  party.  "  Philip  is  so  fond  of  his  cousin's  husband,  that  he 
cannot  bear  to  hear  the  black  man  abused." 

This  was  not  a  very  brilliant  joke,  but  Philip  grinned  at  it  with 
mucli  savage  satisfaction. 

"  Hit  Woolcomb  as  hard  as  you  please,  he  has  no  friends  here, 
Mr.  Bradgate,"  growled  Philip.  "  So  he  is  rude  to  his  lawyer, 
is  he  ] " 

"  I  tell  you  he  is  worse  than  the  old  Earl,"  cried  the  indignant 
Bradgate.  "At  least  the  old  man  was  a  peer  of  England,  and 
could  be  a  gentleman  when  he  wished.  But  to  be  bullied  by  a 
fellow  who  might  be  a  black  ftjotman,  or  ought  to  be  sweeping  a 
crossing  !     It's  monstrous  !  " 

"Don't  speak  ill  of  a  man  and  a  brother,  Mr.  Bradgate.  Wool- 
comb can't  help  his  complexion." 

"  But  he  can  help  his  confounded  impudence,  and  shan't  practise 
it  on  me  !  "  the  attorney  said. 

As  Bradgate  called  out  from  his  box,  puffing  and  fuming,  friend 
J.  J.  was  scribbling  in  the  little  sketch-book  which  he  always 
carried.  He  smiled  over  his  work.  "I  know,"  he  said,  "the 
Black  Prince  well  enough.  I  have  often  seen  him  driving  his  chest- 
nut mares  in  the  Park,  with  that  bewildered  white  wife  by  his  side. 
I  am  sure  that  woman  is  miserable,  and,  poor  thing " 

"  Serve  her  right !  AVhat  did  an  English  lady  mean  by  marry- 
ing such  a  fellow  1 "  cries  Bradj^ate. 


ON    HIS    W^AY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     631 

"  A  fellow  Avho  does  not  ask  his  lawyer  to  dinner ! "  remarks 
one  of  the  company  ;  perhajjs  the  reader's  very  humble  servant. 
"But  what  an  imprudent  lawyer  he  has  chosen — a  lawyer  wdio 
speaks  his  mind." 

"  I  have  spoken  my  mind  to  liis  betters,  and  be  hanged  to  him  ! 
Do  you  think  I  am  going  to  l)e  afraid  of  him  V  bawls  the  irascible 
solicitor. 

"  Conternpsi  Catilime  (jladios — do  you  remember  the  old  quota- 
tion at  school,  Philip?"  And  here  there  was  a  break  in  our 
conversation,  for,  chancing  to  look  at  friend  J.  J.'s  sketch-book,  we 
saw  that  he  had  made  a  wonderful  little  drawing,  representing 
Woolcomb  and  Woolcomb's  wife,  grooms,  i)Iiaeton,  and  chestnut 
mares,  as  they  were  to  be  seen  any  afternoon  in  Hyde  Park,  during 
the  London  season. 

Admira])le  !  Capital  !  Everybody  at  once  knew  the  likeness 
of  the  dusky  charioteer.  Iracundus  himself  smiled  and  sniggered 
over  it.  "  Unless  you  behave  yourself,  Mr.  Bradgate,  Ridley  will 
make' a  })icture  o\'  you"  says  Philip.  Bradgate  made  a  comical  face, 
and  retreated  into  his  box,  of  which  he  pretended  to  draw  the  curtain. 
But  the  sociable  little  man  did  not  long  remain  in  his  retirement ; 
he  emerged  from  it  in  a  short  time,  his  wine  decanter  in  his  hand, 
and  joined  our  little  party  :  and  then  wt,  fell  to  talking  of  old  times  ; 
and  we  all  remembered  a  famous  drawing  by  H.  B.  of  the  late  Earl 
of  Ringwood,  in  the  old-fasliioned  swallow-tailed  coat  and  tight 
trousers,  on  the  old-fashioned  liorse,  witii  the  old-fasliioned  groom 
liehind  him,  as  he  used  to  be  seen  pounding  along  Rotten  RdW. 

"I  speak  my  mind,  do  11"  says  Mr.  Bradgate,  presently.  "I 
know  somebody  who  spoke  hu  mind  to  that  old  man,  and  who 
would  have  been  better  oft"  if  he  had  held  his  tongue." 

"Come,  tell  me,  Bradgate,"  cried  Philip.  "It  is  all  over  and 
past  now.  Had  Lord  Ringwood  left  me  something?  I  declare  I 
thought  at  one  time  that  he  intended  to  do  so." 

"Nay,  has  not  your  friend  liere  been  rebuking  me  for  speaking 
my  mind  1  I  am  going  to  be  as  mum  as  a  mouse.  Let  us  talk 
about  the  election."  And  the  provoking  lawyer  would  say  no  more 
on  a  subject  ])ossessing  a  dismal  interest  for  i)oor  Phil. 

"I  have  no  more  right  to  repine,"  said  that  ithilosopher,  "than 
a  man  would  have  who  drew  nundjer  ,/•  in  the  lottery,  when  the 
winning  ticket  was  number  y.  Let  us  talk,  as  you  say,  about  the 
election.     Who  is  to  o])pose  Mr.  Woolcond)?" 

Mr.  Bradgate  believed  a  neighbouring  sipiii-e,  Mi-.  Hurnblow,  was 
to  be  the  candidate  put  forward  against  the  Ringwood  nondnee. 

"  Hornblow  I  wnat,  Hornblow  of  Grey  Friars'?"  cries  Philip. 
"  A  better  fellow  never  liveil.     In  this  case  he  shall  have  our  vote 


63^  THE   ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

and  interest ;  and  I  think  we  ought  to  go  over  and  take  another 
dinner  at  the  '  Ram.'  " 

The  new  candidate  actually  turned  out  to  be  Philip's  old  school 
and  college  friend,  Mr.  Hornblow.  After  dinner  we  met  him  with 
a  staff  of  canvassers  on  the  tramp  through  the  little  town.  Mr. 
Hornblow  was  paying  his  respects  to  such  tradesmen  as  had  their 
sliops  yet  open.  Next  day  being  market-day,  he  proposed  to  can- 
vass the  market  people.  "  If  I  meet  the  black  man,  Firmin,"  said 
the  burly  squire,  "  I  think  I  can  chaff  him  off  his  legs.  He  is  a 
bad  one  at  speaking,  I  am  told." 

As  if  the  tongue  of  Plato  would  have  prevailed  in  Whipham 
and  against  the  nominee  of  the  great  house !  The  hour  was  late 
to  be  sure,  but  tlie  companions  of  Mr.  Hornblow  on  his  canvass 
augured  ill  of  his  success  after  half-an-hour's  walk  at  his  heels. 
Baker  Jones  would  not  promise  nohow  :  that  meant  Jones  would 
vote  for  the  Castle,  Mr.  Hornblow's  legal  aide-de-camp,  Mr.  Batley, 
was  forced  to  allow.  Butcher  Brown  was  having  his  tea, — his 
shrill-voiced  wife  told  us,  looking  out  from  her  glazed  back  parlour : 
Brown  would  vote  for  the  Castle.  Saddler  Briggs  would  see  about 
it.  Grocer  Adams  fairly  said  he  would  vote  against  us — against 
us  ? — against  Hornblow,  whose  part  we  were  takiug  already.  I 
fear  the  flattering  ]»romises  of  sujjport  of  a  great  ])ody  of  free  and 
unbiassed  electors,  which  had  induced  Mr.  Hornblow  to  come  for- 
ward and,  &c.,  were  but  inventions  of  that  little  lawyer,  Batley, 
who  found  his  account  in  having  a  contest  in  the  borough.  When 
the  polling-day  came — you  see,  I  disdain  to  make  any  mysteries  in 
tins  simple  and  veracious  story — Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb,  whose 
solicitor  and  agent  spoke  for  him — Mr.  Grenville  Woolcomb,  who 
could  not  spell  or  speak  two  sentences  of  decent  English,  and  whose 
character  for  dulness,  ferocity,  penuriousness,  jealousy,  almost  fatuity, 
was  notorious  to  all  the  world — was  returned  by  an  immense 
majority,  and  the  country  gentlemen  brought  scarce  a  hundred  votes 
to  the  poll. 

We  who  were  in  nowise  engaged  in  the  contest,  nevertheless 
found  amusement  from  it  in  a  quiet  country  place  where  little  else 
was  stirring.  We  came  over  once  or  twice  from  Periwinkle  Bay. 
We  mounted  Hornblow's  colours  openly.  We  drove  up  ostenta- 
tiously to  the  "  Ram,"  forsaking  tlie  "  Ringwood  Arms,"  where  Mr. 
Grenville  Woolcomb's  Committee  Room  was  now  established 
in  that  very  coffee-room  wliere  we  had  dined  in  Mr.  Bradgate's 
company.  We  warmed  in  the  contest.  We  met  Bradgate  and  his 
principal  more  tlian  once,  and  our  Montagus  and  Capulets  defied 
each  other  in  the  public  street.  It  was  fine  to  see  Philip's  great 
figure  and  noble  scowl  when   he   met  Woolcomb  at  the  canvass. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     63S 

Gleams  of  mulatto  hate  quivereil  from  the  eyes  of  the  little  Captain. 
Darts  of  fire  flashed  from  beneath  Philip's  eyebrows  as  he  elbowed  his 
way  forward,  and  hustled  Woolcomb  otf  the  pavement.  Mr.  Philip 
never  disguised  any  sentiment  of  his.  "  Hate  the  little  ignorant, 
spiteful,  vulgar,  avaricious  beast  1  Of  course  I  hate  liim,  and  I 
should  like  to  pitch  him  into  the  river."  "Oh  Philip  !  "  Charlotte 
pleaded.  But  there  was  no  reasoning  with  this  savage  when  in 
"wrath.      I  dejilorcd,  though  jjcrhaps  I  was  aiiuised  by,  his  ferocity. 

The  lo(>al  ipa])er  on  our  side  was  filled  with  withering  epigrams 
against  this  j)oor  Woolcomb,  of  which,  I  susitect,  Philip  was  the 
author.  I  think  I  know  that  fierce  style  and  tremendous  invective. 
In  the  man  whom  he  hates  he  can  see  no  good  :  and  in  his  friend 
no  fault.  When  we  met  Bradgate  apart  from  his  princijjal,  we 
were  friendly  enough.  He  said  we  had  no  chance  in  the  contest. 
He  did  not  conceal  his  dislike  and  contemjit  for  his  client.  He 
amused  us  in  later  days  (when  he  actually  became  Philip's  man  of 
law)  by  recounting  anecdotes  of  Woolcomb,  his  fury,  his  jealousy, 
his  avarice,  his  brutal  behaviour.  Poor  Agnes  had  married  for 
money,  and  he  gave  her  none.  Old  Twysden,  in  giving  his  daughter 
to  this  man,  had  hoped  to  have  the  run  of  a  fine  house ;  to  ride  in 
Woolcomb's  carriages,  and  feast  at  his  table.  But  AVoolcomb  was 
so  stingy  that  he  grudged  the  meat  which  his  wife  ate,  and  would 
give  none  to  her  relations.  He  turned  those  relations  out  of  his 
doors.  Talbot  and  Ringwood  Twysden,  he  drove  them  both  away. 
He  lost  a  child  because  he  would  not  send  for  a  physician.  His 
wife  never  forgave  him  that  meanness.  Her  hatred  for  him  became 
open  and  avowed.  They  parted,  and  she  led  a  life  into  Avhich  we 
will  look  no  farther.  She  quarrelled  with  parents  as  well  as 
husband.  "Why,"  she  said,  "did  they  sell  me  to  that  man?" 
Why  did  she  sell  herself?  She  required  little  persuasion  from 
father  and  mother  when  she  committed  that  crime.  To  be  sure, 
they  had  educated  her  so  well  to  worldlincss,  that  when  the  occasion 
came,  she  was  ready. 

We  used  to  see  this  luckless  woman,  with  her  horses  and 
servants  decked  with  Woolcomb's  ribbons,  driving  about  the  little 
town,  and  making  feeble  efforts  to  canvass  the  townspeople.  They 
all  knew  how  slie  and  her  husband  (luarrelled.  Rejtorts  came  very 
fjuickly  from  the  Hall  to  the  town.  AVoolcomb  had  not  been  at 
Whipham  a  week  when  people  began  to  hoot  and  jeer  at  him  as  he 
passed  in  his  carriage.  "  Think  how  weak  you  must  be,"  Bradgate 
said,  "  when  we  can  win  with  this  horse !  I  wish  he  would  stay 
away,  though.  We  could  manage  much  better  without  him.  He 
has  insulted  I  don't  how  many  free  and  independent  electors,  and 
infuriated  others,  because  he  will  not  give  them  beer  when  they 


634  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

come  to  the  house.  If  Woolcomb  would  stay  in  the  place,  and  we 
could  have  the  election  next  year,  I  think  your  man  might  win. 
But,  as  it  is,  he  may  as  well  give  in,  and  spare  the  expense  of  a 
poll."  Meanwhile  Hornblow  was  very  confident.  We  believe  what 
we  wish  to  believe.  It  is  marvellous  what  faith  an  enthusiastic 
electioneering  agent  can  inspire  in  his  client.  At  any  rate,  if  Honi- 
l)low  did  not  win  this  time,  he  would  at  the  next  election.  The  old 
Ringwood  domination  in  Wliipham  was  gone  henceforth  for  ever. 

When  the  day  of  election  arrived,  you  may  be  sure  we  came 
over  from  Periwinkle  Bay  to  see  the  battle.  By  this  time  Philip 
had  grown  so  enthusiastic  in  Hornblow's  cause — (Pliilip,  by  the 
way,  never  would  allow  the  possibility  of  a  defeat) — that  he  had 
his  children  decked  in  the  Hornblow  ribbons,  and  drove  from  the 
Bay  wearing  a  cockade  as  large  as  a  pancake.  He,  I,  and  Ridley 
the  painter,  went  togetlier  in  a  dog-cart.  We  were  hopeful,  though 
we  knew  the  enemy  was  strong ;  and  cheerful,  though,  ere  we  had 
driven  five  miles,  the  rain  began  to  fall. 

Philip  was  very  anxious  about  a  certain  great  roll  of  paper 
which  we  carried  with  us.  When  I  asked  him  what  it  contained, 
he  said  it  was  a  gun ;  which  was  absurd.  Ridley  smiled  in  his 
silent  way.  When  the  rain  came,  Philip  cast  a  cloak  over  his 
artillery,  and  sheltered  his  powder.  We  little  guessed  at  the  time 
what  strange  game  his  shot  would  bring  down. 

When  we  reached  Whipliam,  the  polling  had  continued  for 
some  hours.  The  confounded  black  miscreant,  as  Philip  called  his 
cousin's  husband,  was  at  the  head  of  the  ])oll,  and  with  every  hour 
his  majority  increased.  The  free  and  independent  electors  did  not 
seem  to  be  in  the  least  influenced  by  Philip's  articles  in  the  county 
paper,  or  by  the  placards  which  our  side  had  pasted  over  the  little 
town,  and  in  which  freemen  were  called  upon  to  do  their  duty,  to 
support  a  fine  old  English  gentleman,  to  submit  to  no  Castle  nominee, 
and  so  forth.  The  pressure  of  the  Ringwood  steward  and  bailiffs 
was  too  strong.  However  much  they  disliked  the  black  man, 
tradesman  after  tradesman,  and  tenant  after  tenant,  came  up  to 
vote  for  liim.  Our  drums  and  trumpets  at  the  "  Ram  "  blew  loud 
defiance  to  the  brass  band  at  the  "  Ringwood  Arms."  From  our 
balcony,  I  flatter  myself,  we  made  much  finer  speeches  than  the 
Ringwood  people  could  deliver.  Hornblow  was  a  popular  man  in 
the  county.  When  lie  came  forward  to  speak,  the  market-place 
echoed  with  applause.  The  farmers  and  small  tradesmen  touched 
their  hats  to  him  kindly,  but  slunk  off"  sadly  to  the  polling-booth, 
and  voted  according  to  order.  A  fine,  healthy,  handsome,  red- 
cheeked  squire,  our  champion's  personal  appearance  enlisted  all  the 
ladies  in  his  favour. 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     6S5 

"If  tlie  two  men,"  bawled  Pliilip,  from  the  "Ram"  window, 
"  could  decide  the  contest  Avith  their  coats  oft"  before  the  market- 
house  yonder,  which  do  you  think  Avould  win — the  fair  man  or  the 
darkey  1 "  (Loud  cries  of  "  Hornblow  for  iver  !  "  or  "  Mr.  Philip 
we'll  have  i/ei".")  "But  you  see,  my  friends,  Mr.  AVoolcomb  does 
not  like  a  fair  fight.  Why  doesn't  he  show  at  the  '  Ringwood 
Arms'  and  speak  1  I  don't  believe  he  can  speak — not  English. 
Are  you  men]  Are  you  I-Cnglishmen  ?  Are  you  Avhite  slaves  to  be 
sold  to  that  fellow  ? "  (Immense  uproar.  Mr.  Finch,  the  Ring- 
wood  agent,  in  vain  tries  to  get  a  hearing  from  the  balcony  of  the 
"Ringwood  Arms.")  "Why  does  not  Sir  John  Ringwood — my 
Lord  Ringwood  now — come  down  amongst  his  tenantry,  and  back 
the  man  he  has  sent  down'?  I  suppose  he  is  ashamed  to  look  his 
tenants  in  the  fiice.  I  should  be,  if  I  ordered  them  to  do  such 
a  degrading  job.  You  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  am  a  Ringwood 
myself.  My  grandfather  lies  buried — no,  not  buried — in  yonder 
church.  His  tomb  is  there.  His  body  lies  on  the  glorious  field  of 
Busaco  !  "  ("Hurray!")  "lama  Ringwood."  (Cries  of  "  Hoo 
— down.  No  Ringwoods  year.  We  wunt  have  un  !  ")  "  And 
before  George,  if  I  had  a  vote,  I  would  give  it  for  the  gallant,  the 
good,  the  admirable,  the  excelhnit  Hornblow.  Some  one  holds  up  the 
state  of  the  poll,  and  Woolcomb  is  aliead!  I  can  only  say,  electors 
of  V^'\n\)h:m\,  the  i/tore  shame  for  i/ou  I"  "Hooray!  Bravo!"  The 
boys,  the  jjcojtle,  the  shouting,  are  all  on  our  sitle.  The  voting,  I 
regret  to  say,  steadily  continues  in  favour  of  the  enemy. 

As  Philip  was  making  his  speech,  an  immense  banging  of  dnniis 
and  blowing  of  trum])ets  arose  from  the  balcony  of  the  "Ringwood 
Arms,"  and  a  something  resembling  the  song  of  triumph,  called 
"See  the  Coniiuering  Hero  comes,"  was  performed  by  the  o])position 
orchestra.  The  lodge-gates  of  the  park  were  now  decorated  with 
the  Ringwood  and  Woolcomb  flags.  They  were  flung  o])en,  and  a 
dark  green  chariot  with  four  grey  horses  issued  from  the  ])nrk. 
On  the  chariot  was  an  earl's  coronet,  and  the  people  looked  rather 
scared  as  it  came  towards  us,  and  said  :  "  Do'ee  look,  now,  'tis  my 
Lard's  own  postchaise  ! "  On  former  days  Mr.  Woolcoml),  and  his 
wife  as  liis  aide-de-canij),  had  driven  tlirough  the  town  in  an  oi>cn 
barouche  ;  but,  to-day  being  rainy,  ])referred  the  shelter  of  the  old 
chariot,  and  we  saw,  presently,  within,  Mr.  liradgate,  the  London 
agent,  and  liy  his  side  the  darkling  figure  of  Mr.  Woolcomb.  He 
had  passed  many  agonising  hoiu's,  we  were  told  subsequently,  in 
attempting  to  learn  a  speech.  He  cried  over  it.  He  never  could 
get  it  by  lieart.  He  swore  like  a  frantic  child  at  his  wife  who 
endeavoured  to  teach  him  his  lesson. 

"Now's  the   time,  Mr.   Briggs  ! "    l'hilii>   said   to  Mr.    B.,  our 


636  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

lawyer's  clerk,  and  the  intelligent  Briggs  sprang  downstairs  to 
obey  his  orders.  Clear  the  road  there !  make  way !  was  heard 
from  the  crowd  below  us.  The  gates  of  our  inn  courtyard,  which 
had  been  closed,  were  suddenly  flung  open,  and,  amidst  the  roar  of 
the  multitude,  there  issued  out  a  cart  drawn  by  two  donkeys,  and 
driven  by  a  negro,  beasts  and  man  all  wearing  Woolcomb's  colours. 
In  the  cart  was  fixed  a  placard,  on  which  a  most  undeniable  like- 
ness of  Mr.  Woolcomb  was  designed  :  who  was  made  to  say,  "  Vote 
FOR  ME  !  Am  I  NOT  A  Man  AND  A  Brudder  1 "  This  cart  trotted 
out  of  the  yard  of  the  "  Ram,"  and,  with  a  cortfege  of  shouting 
boys,  advanced  into  the  market-place,  which  Mr.  Woolcomb's 
carriage  was  then  crossing. 

Before  the  market-house  stands  the  statue  of  the  late  Earl, 
whereof  mention  has  been  made.  In  his  peer's  robes,  a  hand 
extended,  he  points  towards  his  park  gates.  An  inscription,  not 
more  mendacious  than  many  other  epigraphs,  records  his  rank,  age, 
virtues,  and  the  esteem  in  which  the  people  of  Whipham  held  him. 
Tlie  mulatto  who  drove  the  team  of  donkeys  was  an  itinerant 
tradesman  who  brought  fish  from  the  bay  to  the  little  town  :  a 
jolly  wag,  a  fellow  of  indifferent  character,  a  frequenter  of  all  the 
alehouses  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  rather  celebrated  for  his  skill 
as  a  bruiser.  He  and  his  steeds  streamed  with  Woolcomb  ribbons. 
With  ironical  shouts  of  "  Woolcomb  for  ever ! "  Yellow  Jack 
urged  his  cart  towards  the  chariot  with  the  white  horses.  He  took 
off  his  hat  with  mock  respect  to  the  candidate  sitting  within  the 
green  chariot.  From  the  balcony  of  the  "  Ram  "  we  could  see  the 
two  vehicles  approaching  each  other ;  and  Yellow  Jack  waving  his 
ribboned  hat,  kicking  his  bandy  legs  here  and  there,  and  urging  on 
his  donkeys.  What  with  tlie  roar  of  the  people,  and  the  banging 
and  trumpeting  of  the  rival  bands,  we  could  hear  but  little  :  but 
I  saw  Woolcomb  thrust  his  yellow  head  out  of  his  chaise  window — • 
he  pointed  towards  that  impudent  donkey-cart,  and  urged,  seemingly, 
his  postillions  to  ride  it  down.  Plying  their  whips,  the  postboys 
galloped  towards  Yellow  Jack  and  his  vehicle,  a  yelling  crowd 
scattering  from  before  the  horses,  and  rallying  behind  them,  to  utter 
execrations  at  Woolcomb.  His  horses  were  frightened,  no  doubt ; 
for  just  as  Yellow  Jack  wheeled  nimbly  round  one  side  of  the 
Ringwood  statue,  Woolcomb's  horses  were  all  huddled  together  and 
plunging  in  confusion  beside  it,  the  fore-wheel  came  in  abrupt 
collision  with  the  stonework  of  the  statue  railing :  and  then  we  saw 
the  vehicle  turn  over  altogether,  one  of  the  wheelers  down  with  its 
rider,  and  the  leaders  kicking,  plunging,  lashing  out  right  and  left, 
wild  and  maddened  with  fear.  Mr.  Philip's  countenance,  I  am  bound 
to  say,  wore  a  most  guilty  and  queer  expression.     This  accident, 


I 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD      637 

this  collision,  tliis  injury,  perhaps  death  of  Wooleonib  and  his  lawyer, 
arose  out  of  our  fine  joke  about  the  Man  anil  the  Brother. 

We  dashed  down  the  stairs  from  the  "  Ram "  —  Hornblow, 
Philip,  and  half-a-dozen  more — and  made  a  way  through  the  crowd 
towards  the  carriage,  with  its  prostrate  occupants.  The  mob 
made  way  civilly  for  the  popular  candidate — the  losing  candidate. 
When  we  reached  the  chaise,  the  traces  had  been  cut ;  the  horses 
were  free  ;  the  fallen  postillion  was  up  and  rubbing  his  leg ;  and, 
as  soon  as  the  wheelers  were  taken  out  of  the  chaise,  Woolcomb 
emerged  from  it.  He  had  said  from  within  (accompanying  liis 
speech  with  many  oaths,  which  need  not  be  repeated,  and  showing 
a  just  sense  of  his  danger),  "Cut  the  traces,  hang  you  !  And  take 
tlie  horses  away  :  I  can  wait  until  they're  gone.  I'm  sittin'  on  my 
lawyer  ;  I  ain't  going  to  have  iny  head  kicked  oft"  by  those  wheelers." 
And  just  as  we  reached  the  fallen  postchaise  he  emerged  from  it, 
laughing  and  saying,  "  Lie  still,  you  old  beggar  !  "  to  Mr.  Bradgate, 
who  was  writhing  underneath  him.  His  issue  from  the  carriage 
was  received  with  shouts  of  laughter,  which  increased  prodigiously 
when  Yellow  Jack,  nimbly  clambering  up  the  statue  railings, 
thrust  the  outstret(;hed  arm  of  the  statue  through  the  jiicture  of 
the  Man  and  tlie  Brother,  and  left  that  cartoon  flapping  in  the 
air  over  Woolcomb's  head. 

Then  a  shout  arose,  the  like  of  whicli  has  seldom  been  heard 
in  that  ([uiet  little  town.  Tlien  Woolcomb,  who  had  been  quite 
good-humoured  as  he  issued  out  of  the  broken  jiostchaise,  began  to 
shriek,  curse,  and  revile  more  shrilly  than  before  ;  and  was  heard, 
in  the  midst  of  his  oaths,  and  Avratli,  to  say,  "  He  would  give  any 
man  a  shillin'  who  would  bring  him  down  that  confounded  thing !  " 
Then  scared,  bruised,  contused,  confused,  poor  Mr.  Bradgate  came  out 
of  the  carriage,  his  employer  taking  not  the  least  notice  of  him. 

Hornblow  hoped  Woolcomb  was  not  hurt,  on  which  the  little 
gentleman  turneil  round  and  said,  "  Hurt  %  No :  who  are  you  % 
Is  no  fellah  goiii'  to  bring  me  down  that  confounded  thing]  I'll 
give  a  shillin',  I  say,  to  the  fellah  who  does  ! " 

"A  shilling  is  ottered  for  that  picture!"  shouts  Philiii  with 
a  red  face,  and  wild  with  excitement.  "Who  will  take  a  whole 
shilling  for  that  beauty  %  " 

On  which  Woolcomb  began  to  scream,  curse,  and  revile  more 
bitterly  than  before.  "You  here]  Hang  you,  why  are  you  here] 
Don't  come  bullyin'  ww..  Take  that  fellah  away,  some  of  you  fellahs. 
Bradgate,  come  to  my  committee- room.  I  won't  stay  here,  I  say. 
Let's  have  the  beast  of  a  carnage,  and Well,  what's  up  now]" 

AVhile  he  was  talking,  shrieking,  and  swearing,  half-a-dozen 
shoulders  in  the  crowd  had  raised  the  carriage  up  on  its  three  wheels. 


638  THE    ADVENTURES    OF    PHILIP 

The  panel  which  had  fallen  towards  the  ground  had  split  against  a 
stone,  and  a  great  gap  was  seen  in  the  side.  A  lad  was  about  to 
thrust  his  hand  into  tlie  orifice,  when  Woolcomb  turned  upon  him. 

"  Hands  off,  you  little  beggar  !  "  he  cried,  "no  priggin'  !  Drive 
away  some  of  those  fellahs,  you  postboys  !  Don't  stand  rubbin' 
your  knee  there,  you  great  fool.  AVhat's  thisl"  and  he  thrusts  liis 
own  hand  into  the  place  where  the  boy  had  just  been  marauding. 

In  the  old  travelling  carriages  there  used  to  be  a  well  or  sword- 
case,  in  which  travellers  used  to  put  swords  and  pistols  in  days 
when  such  weapons  of  defence  were  needful  on  the  road.  Out  of  this 
sword-case  of  Lord  Ringwood's  old  post-chariot,  Woolcomb  did  not 
draw  a  sword,  but  a  foolscap  paper  folded  and  tied  with  a  red  tape. 
And  he  began  to  read  the  superscription — "Will  of  the  Right  Honour- 
able John,  Earl  of  Ringwood.      Bradgate,  Smith  and  Burrows." 

"Grod  bless  my  soul!  It's  the  will  he  had  back  from  my  office,  and 
whic^h  I  thought  he  had  destroyed.  My  dear  fellow,  I  congratulate 
you  with  all  my  heart !/'  And  herewith  Mr.  Bradgate  the  lawyer 
began  to  shake  Philip's  hand  with  much  warmth.  "  Allow  me  to  look 
at  that  paper.  Yes,  this  is  my  handwriting.  Let  us  come  into  the 
'  Ringwood  Arms  ' — the  '  Ram  ' — anywhei-e,  and  read  it  to  you  !  " 

.  .  .  Here  we  looked  up  to  the  balcony  of  the  "  Ringwood 
Arms,"  and  beheld  a  great  placard  announcing  the  state  of  the  poll 
at  one  o'clock  : — - 

Woolcomb     .         ,         .         .         .216 
hornblow    .....       92 

"We  are  beaten,"  said  Mr.  Hornblow,  very  good-naturedly. 
"We  may  take  our  flag  down.     Mr.  Woolcomb,  I  congratulate  you." 

"I  knew  we  should  do  it,"  said  Mr.  Woolcomb,  putting  out  a 
little  yellow-kidded  hand.  "  Had  all  the  votes  beforehand — knew 
we  should  do  the  trick,  I  say.  Hi !  you — What-do-you-call-'im — 
Bradgate  !  What  is  it  about,  that  will  ?  It  does  not  do  any  good 
to  that  beggar,  does  if?"  and  with  laughter  and  shouts,  and  cries 
of  "  Woolcomb  for  ever  !  "  and  "  Give  us  something  to  drink,  your 
honour,"  the  successful  candidate  marched  into  his  hotel. 

And  was  the  tawny  Woolcomb  the  foiry  "who  was  to  rescue 
Philip  from  grief,  debt,  and  poverty'?  Yes.  And  the  old  post- 
chaise  of  the  late  Lord  Ringwood  was  the  fairy  chariot.  You 
have  read  in  a  past  chapter  how  the  old  Lord,  being  transported 
with  anger  against  Philip,  desired  his  lawyer  to  bring  back  a  will 
in  which  he  had  left  a  handsome  legacy  to  the  young  man,  as  his 
mother's  son.  My  Lord  had  intended  to  make  a  provision  for  Mrs. 
Firmin,  when   she  was  his  dutiful  niece,   and  yet   under  his  roof 


ON    HIS    WAY    THROUGH    THE    WORLD     639 

When  she  elo])0(l  with  Mr.  Firniiii,  Loi'd  Ringwood  vowod  he  ■svmihl 
give  his  niece  notliing.  But  he  was  pleased  with  the  indej)en<h'nt 
and  forgiving  spii'it  exhibited  by  her  son;  and,  being  a  person  of 
niueli  grim  luiinour,  I  daresay  ehuekled  inwardly  at  tliinking  how 
furious  the  Twysdens  would  be  when  they  found  Philii»  was  the  old 
Lord's  favourite.  Then  Mr.  Philip  chose  to  be  insubordinate,  and 
to  excite  the  wrath  of  his  great-uncle,  who  desired  to  have  his  will 
back  again.  He  put  the  document  into  his  carriage,  in  the  secret 
box,  as  he  drove  away  on  that  last  journey,  in  the  midst  of  which 
death  seized  him.  Had  he  survived,  would  he  liave  made  another 
will,  leaving  out  all  mention  of  Philip'?  Who  shall  say  1  My  I^ord 
made  and  cancelled  many  wills.  This  certainly,  duly  drawn  and 
witnessed,  was  the  last  he  ever  signed  ;  and  by  it  Philip  is  ]iut  in 
possession  of  a  sum  of  money  which  is  sutficient  to  ensure  a  ])ro- 
vision  for  those  Avhom  he  loves.  Kind  readers,  I  know  not  whetlier 
the  fairies  be  rife  now,  or  banished  from  this  workaday  earth,  but 
Philip's  biograj)her  wishes  you  some  of  those  blessings  which  never 
forsook  Philij)  in  his  trials  :  a  dear  wife  and  children  to  love  you, 
a  true  friend  or  two  to  stand  by  you,  and  in  health  or  sickness  a 
clear  conscience  and  a  kindly  heart.  If  you  fall  upon  the  way, 
may  succour  reacli  you.  And  may  you,  in  your  turn,  have  help 
and  pity  in  store  for  the  unfortunate  whom  you  overtake  o)i  life's 
journey. 

Would  you  care  to  know  what  hapjicned  to  the  otlici-  ])ersonages 
of  our  narrative  1  Old  Twysden  is  still  babbling  and  bragging 
at  clubs,  and  though  aged  is  not  the  least  venerable.  He  has 
quarrelled  Avith  his  son  for  not  calling  Woolcomb  out,  when  that 
unhai)iiy  ditl'erence  arose  between  the  Black  Prince  and  his  wife. 
He  says  his  fannly  has  been  treated  with  cruel  injustice  by  the  late 
Lord  Ringwood,  but  as  soon  as  Philip  had  a  little  fortune  lel't  him 
he  instantly  was  reconciled  to  his  wife's  nejjhew.  There  are  other 
fi'iends  of  Firmin's  who  were  kind  enough  to  him  in  his  evil  days, 
but  cannot  pardon  his  prosperity.  Being  in  that  benevolent  mood 
which  nuist  accompany  any  leave-taking,  we  will  not  nan)e  these 
ill-wishers  of  I'liiliji,  Init  wish  that  all  readers  of  his  story  may  liave 
like  reason  to  make  some  of  their  acquaintances  angry. 

Our  dear  Little  Sister  would  never  live  with  Phili]i  and  his 
Charlotte,  though  the  latter  es})erialh/  and  with  all  iier  heart  be- 
sought ]\Irs.  Brandon  to  come  to  them.  That  pure  and  useful  and 
modest  life  ended  a  few  years  since.  She  died  of  a  fever  caught 
from  one  of  her  patients.  She  would  not  allow  Phili])  or  Charlotte 
to  come  near  her.  She  said  she  was  justly  ])unishcd  for  being  so 
proud  as  to  refuse  to  live  with  them.  All  her  little  store  she  left 
to  Philip.     He  has  now  in  liis  desk  the  five  guineas  which  she  gave 


6m  the    adventures    of    PHILIP 

him  at  his  marriage ;  and  J.  J.  has  made  a  little  picture  of  her, 
with  her  sad  smile  anil  her  sweet  face,  which  hangs  in  Philii)'s 
drawing-room,  where  father,  mother,  and  children  tallc  of  the  Litth' 
Sister  as  though  she  were  among  them  still. 

She  was  dreadfully  agitated  when  the  news  came  from  New 
York  of  Dr.  Firmin's  second  marriage.  "  His  second  1  His  third  !  " 
she  said.  "  The  villain,  the  villain ! "  That  strange  delusion 
which  we  have  described  as  sometimes  possessing  her  increased  in 
intensity  after  this  news.  More  than  ever,  she  believed  that  Philip 
was  her  own  child.  She  came  wildly  to  him,  and  cried  that  his 
father  had  forsaken  them.  It  was  only  when  she  was  excited  that 
she  gave  utterance  to  this  opinion.  Dr.  Goodenough  says  that, 
though  generally  silent  about  it,  it  never  left  her. 

Upon  his  marriage  Dr.  Firmin  wrote  one  of  his  long  letters  to 
his  son,  announcing  the  event.  He  described  the  wealth  of  the  lady 
(a  widow  from  Norfolk,  in  Virginia)  to  whom  he  was  about  to  be 
united.  He  would  pay  back,  ay,  with  interest,  every  pound,  every 
dollar,  every  cent  he  owed  his  son.  Was  the  lady  wealthy  1  We 
had  only  the  poor  Doctor's  word. 

Three  months  after  his  marriage  he  died  of  yellow  fever,  on 
his  wife's  estate.  It  was  then  the  Little  Sister  came  to  see  us  in 
widow's  mourning,  very  wild  and  flushed.  She  bade  our  servant 
say,  "  Mrs.  Firmin  was  at  the  door ; "  to  the  astonishment  of  the 
man,  who  knew  lier.  She  had  even  caused  a  mourning-card  to  be 
printed.  Ah,  there  is  rest  now  for  tliat  little  fevered  brain,  and 
peace,  let  us  pray,  for  that  fond  faithful  heart. 

The  mothers  in  Philip's  household  and  mine  have  already  made 
a  match  between  our  children.  We  had  a  great  gathering  the  other 
day  at  Roeharapton,  at  the  house  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Olive  Newcome 
(whose  tall  boy,  my  wife  says,  was  very  attentive  to  our  Helen), 
and,  having  been  educated  at  the  same  school,  we  sat  ever  so  long 
at  dessert,  telling  old  stories,  whilst  the  children  danced  to  piano 
music  on  the  lawn.  Dance  on  the  lawn,  young  folks,  whilst  the 
elders  talk  in  the  shade  !  What  ^  The  night  is  falling :  we  have 
talked  enough  over  our  wine ;  and  it  is  time  to  go  home  1  Good- 
night. Good-night,  friends,  old  and  young  !  The  night  will  fall : 
the  stories  must  end :  and  the  best  friends  must  part. 


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